


The Proposal

by hazelhollyhock



Category: Ripper Street
Genre: Asylum, Consensual Kink, Consensual Sex, F/M, London, Music Hall, Retribution, Russia, Victorian, russian language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-02 13:34:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 50,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10945554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazelhollyhock/pseuds/hazelhollyhock
Summary: A Russian immigrant, recently widowed, seeks the assistance of D.I. Jedediah Shine to intervene on behalf of her husband's overwhelming debts. The assistance he offers is not for free, however, and the price he demands is high. Higher perhaps than she ever imagined.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This work is dedicated to a friend - you know who you are.

"Ms. Hartley, forgive me for visiting you so soon after your husband’s funeral. But there is a matter most urgent which we must discuss.”

“Yes, of course, Mr. Trent. Please come in,” she gestured for him to enter her home. Her husband’s solicitor scraped his boots before entering her modest home and took off his hat as he crossed the threshold.

Immediately he wondered why she and not a maid had opened the door. But then the realization had set in. Her husband had left her no money for a maid.

They each took a seat in the tiny parlor, which Elena had decorated with an Eastern elegance. Carved wood screens, flowers in decorative vases, floral curtain fabrics and pillows. The lady of the house, sheathed in her mourning attire, sat in stark relief to the inviting and warm colors surrounding her: green and turquoise, mint and white cream, natural and stained woods.

Having excused herself briefly so she could make some tea. Her cheeks flushed with scarlet as her husband's squandering of their money had forced her to fire the one servant they had. The solicitor was kind enough not to ask about the lady of the house excusing herself to make their tea.

After a few moments, Elena reemerged into the parlor holding a clinking tray. She set the tray down on a small table between them and promptly poured the man a cup. Trent picked up the silver-gilt and cloisonné enamel tea glass holder which cradled a cup of etched glass. He held up the teacup and admired the scroll rim, the shaded flowers on a stippled ground, blue sunflowers, blue stars, turquoise accents.

Elena noticed his admiration.“They are from my mother’s family, Mr. Trent. A wedding gift. Beautiful, yes?”

“Indeed, Miss.” He set the cup down and cleared his throat. “Ms. Hartley, I’m afraid I come with some difficult news regarding your husband’s finances.”

*****

“How much did he owe?” The amount Trent mentioned made her gasp. It was a fortune. "Mrs. Hartley. Are you alright, my dear?"

Elena brushed way the question. "I am fine. I am fine. I just...it has been a difficult week." And a difficult ten years, she did not add.

“Ms. Hartley, I must warn you. The creditor, from whom your husband borrowed the money, his name is Addison. Mr. Addison, he, erm, he is not a man to be reckoned with. He will come for what he is owed. He will take your house and all of your family’s things.”

Elena looked about. _Take it. Take it all._

“What can I do? Perhaps my father will send me money. But that will take time. He travels for business." 

“There is a man who may be able to help you. A colleague of your husband’s, I believe, in the CID. He has dealings with men like Addison. He has dealings with many gaming halls in the city. I am sure he will be able to intervene on your behalf. But I must warn you. You must keep your wits about you when dealing with the likes of him. His reputation in this city is one of ruthlessness. Do take care.”


	2. Chapter 2

He kept her waiting, but not for long.

“Miss, the inspector will be ‘ere shortly. ‘E’s asked that you sit in ‘is office and wait for ‘im.”

“Thank you, Constable,” she said a little warbly.

The door shut behind her. Aware that all in the station house could see her straight back through the glass. No one here knew her, so she believed. So she hoped.

She sat nervously on the edge of the chair in front of his desk. Her purse string looped around a gloved wrist, her gloved hands folded in her lap. If she could keep her hands thusly, he may not be able to see the tremble, she thought.

The widow’s weeds she wore scratched at her arms, her neck. Suffocated.

TIme had been taken to dress modestly, not knowing what was appropriate for a meeting of this sort, but wishing he might see her at her best – as ridiculous as that might be considering the funeral material of her skirts.

The slightest amount of color had been applied on her cheeks, but there was no way to conceal the dark circles and worry lines that had etched themselves across her face in the span of a week.

She exhaled and took in her surroundings.

Spartan. Orderly.

To the right – a canvas bag sat upon a wooden chair, its width wider than the seat, causing the ends to sag ever so slightly. The surname Shine was stitched in black thread on its visible side.

To the left, a coat rack upon which his windowpane plaid greatcoat hung. It was weathered, tattered.

In front of her, a case file lay untouched.

He strode into the room a few minutes later, looking every inch the head man in charge. His shoulders were broad, his frame muscular.

He walked by her, folding down his shirtsleeves. His knuckles were red and raw.

She caught the scent of Trumper’s cologne floating on the air. Cologne and wind- as if he’d spent quite some time outside that day. Utterly masculine.

“Apologies for the delay, Ms. Hartley. One of the prisoners in the bang-up required a bit of my attention,” he said as he sat down in his creaking chair. He seemed ruffled slightly, as if he had just experienced some physical exertion. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

He sat back in his chair, and with an air of cold professionalism, waited for her to start talking.

“Mr. Shine,” she said, taking in the sight of him.

His curly, brown hair- the color of aged whiskey, was combed back, tamed by a bit of Macassar oil. Perhaps a bit longer than was fashionable in the decade, but still attractive. She saw brown curls caressing his ears, his neck...His stiff collar was clean, around which wrapped a puff tie. The tie was tucked neatly into his silken waistcoat, perhaps a bit flashy, but tailored to his figure perfectly. The waistcoat was a light color, the color of a spring sky at high noon, which complimented his ruddy and lightly tanned complexion. He kept his mustache and chops groomed, but neglected to take care of the dark, thick stubble on his chin and cheeks. 

Under her gaze he shifted in his chair impatiently, all warmth and humor lost in his eyes. In that instant, she felt with a sinking heart that he did not welcome the sight of her. She wanted to run.

“Forgive me,” she said awkwardly, rising from the chair.

He looked at her quizzically and stood. “But you have just arrived.”

“I do not think…” her voice trailed off as she looked at him again. She desperately wished he spoke Russian. They stood four feet apart, with a desk in between, but every nerve in her body was alert and alive, as if his strong hands were touching her.

“You do not think what?” he said, staring at her intently, his icy gaze caressing her features.

She tried to focus on his question. “I fear I am wrong in coming here,” she said, still unable to unlock her gaze from his.

“How so?” His voice was gentler suddenly.

“I need help, but…” Her voice broke a bit, threatening to overwhelm her ability to bring forth words. “I do not know that you can help me.”

He sat back down and held his arm out, gesturing for her to sit again. “Sit, Ms. Hartley,” he commanded.

“Please. Call me Elena.” Her voice was like silk velvet in his ear.

“Alright, Elena. Tell me, what exactly is it you need from me?”

She dropped her head, the aigrette feather on her cap dancing lightly as she did so. He got up and turned down the blinds of his office glass looking out into the station house then pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. Pulling a chair to sit next to her, with no effort at all he scooted her chair around to face him on directly.

He inched to the edge of his seat, his knees on either side of hers. Dangerously close. His nose a hair’s width from her chapeau. “Eh, eh, what’s this then?” he asked as if comforting a lost child. After a pause, “I cannot help you if you do not tell me for what you need my assistance.”

“I’m sorry,” she sniffed and wiped her nose.

“Are you in immediate danger?”

“Of a kind.”

“What kind, Elena” He grabbed her gloved hands in his and held firm. He had a notion. He knew Michael’s activities. Jedediah had in fact known how much money was owed. He said nothing to the woman, however. She would have to lead the conversation. She would have to ask for his help.

Her hands felt so small enclosed in his. She swallowed hard and looked up into his eyes. A question had formed across his brow.

She forced herself to find the words to tell him. “My husband, Michael. After he was buried his solicitor came to see me. Michael had debts. Great debts. But we have no more money. The debt owed is...so very much. I cannot understand. How does a man gamble away so much money, Mr. Shine? In 30 days I will lose my home because there is no money to pay this debt.” Her voice faltered and she bowed her head again. She was a proud woman. This was very difficult for her, he could see.

“Many men are foolish with their money, Elena.” He brought a rough finger under her chin and made her look at him. “Your husband’s reputation with gambling halls walked ahead of him." He cleared his throat. "Did your solicitor give you the name of the creditor? The man who is owed the money?”

“Yes. His name is Charles Addison.” She could see he knew the man. “Do you know him?”

Of course he did.

“Elena, you were right to come to me for help.”

By the look in his eye, she knew that he would take care of it. But then that countenance changed from concerned to predatory in an instant. The fleeting of cautious sense of relief was soon supplanted by a revelation. 

His help would cost her dearly. Jedediah Shine would have his pound of flesh.

“I will help you, girl,” his tone became cool, quiet. “But there will be a price. You know that, don’t you?” The icy whisper sent a shiver down her spine.

Her brow crinkled in worry.

"You see, I own that gaming hall run by that very man to whom you now owe those debts. The creditor, Mr. Addison, now he is a stickler for debtors paying up what is due because he works for me. By owing Addison, Hartley, and now _you_ , owe me, girl."

He sat quietly and let her consider that fact. Her heart began to thump against her chest. “I can try to repay you as quickly as possible, of course, Mr. Shine. I write to my family in Russia. My father will send the amount." It was a lie, but one that flew out before she had the chance to stop it.

His short laugh was without humor. “I don’t care about your money, girl."

“How, then, am I to repay you, sir? What is it that you want?”

He paused, then chuckled as though she had not been clever enough to understand. “You.”

“Sorry?”

“You. My terms are you.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, but her question was a lie. She knew. Deep in her heart, she knew exactly what he wanted. What men wanted.

He held up his index finger. “One week.”

“One week,” she repeated.

He emitted a long sigh and stood up, returning to his chair behind his desk.  

“You are here to beg me to save you from ruin, are you not?” he asked, and she nodded. There was nothing to argue there. “My price is one week with you. For one week, I will be your master. I will own you, body and soul.”

She stared at him. She felt numbed. Drugged.

"What...after?"

"If, after one week you have fulfilled your obligation to me satisfactorily, then you will be released from my hold and you will be free to return to your little life as a merry widow, Ms. Hartley. I shall return to mine. And you will never have to see the likes of me again."

She stared at him. She felt so incredibly powerless in the wooden chair.

“Do you find the terms to be acceptable?” he asked.

“Mr. Shine, I have just buried my husband,” she said fiercely, color rising to her cheeks.  

He chuckled ruefully. “Lady, you may call that pansy-flap what you will, but he fucked every whore in this city, and now he leaves you to make a deal with the devil to settle his debts. Tremendous debts. He was no true husband to you. You may wish to reconsider this charade of loyalty.”

She winced at his insult and wanted to slap his smug face.

Elena wanted to walk out. But she was desperate. He had her.

He watched with a bemused smirk the rage that threatened to rise out of her.

“How dare…” she hissed, but stopped short. She wanted to scream at him. “You are ruthless, just as my solicitor warned,” she settled on saying.

“So I am, lady. So I am. Why else do you think I’m offering you my assistance?” He leaned forward on his desk and eyed her intently.  “We all have choices in this world, Elena, do we not? The question for you is whether spending a week at my mercy is a price you, the devoted widow of the ex D.I. Michael Hartley, are willing to pay to release you from your debts. You are a beautiful woman, Elena. I shake to think what a man such as Mr. Addison might feel forced to do in order to fulfill his obligations to me, if I do not intervene.”

He sat back and waited for her answer.

Grey eyes met green. Finally, she broke the silence. 

“Will there be a contract?”

He scoffed. “We don’t need anything in writing, now, do we? We are friends. And friends do not forget their obligations to one another.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “You ask so much of me. Of my reputation.”

“The removal of such a debt with a creditor of the sort will not be an easy task, Elena. I wish to be compensated sufficiently.”

“No one is worth that, least of all me. How will I know if have behaved...satisfactorily?"

“Well, that will not be for you to decide, my dear.” 

"But that is not fair, Mr. Shine!" She cried a bit louder than she should have. His expression turned serious. "I should at least know the terms beforehand in order to make the deal, yes??"  

"Ain't nothin' fair in this world when you place yourself at the mercy of another. Next time, you choose a husband more wisely."

She did her best to tamp down the anger that now roiled inside her. 

“You will take care of the creditor and allow me to keep my home if I spend one week with you?” she whispered.

“Yes.” His tone invited no further questions. Instead, he stood up and gestured for her to stand as well. “Now, if you don’t mind - “

“May I ask a question?” she interrupted.

He looked impatient. Busy. “If you must.”

“What does it mean that you will own me body and soul? Will you... hurt me?”

She saw darkness in his eyes.

“Will you consider nothing else?” came out on a whisper, seeking but not finding any sign of mercy in his eyes.

A grin tugged at the left side of his mouth. “There is nothing else, my dear.”


	3. Chapter 3

The small coal fire Elena had lit an hour earlier was beginning to fade, but every now and then a pop would occur, jolting her every nerve. She sat in her chemise before her cheval glass, brushing out her long, dark hair. Hair that fell to just above her navel. Hair that most men would have found full of sensual promise. Hair that her now dead husband had never admired, never cared to know of what perfume it smelled.

The memory of the kiss in Jedediah Shine’s office, how his body against hers made her own vibrate, made the blood rush to her cheeks.

She slowly dragged the brush from root to end, smoothing it down with her other hand as it followed the same path. Her gaze fell on the folded letter in front of her.

The note he had sent her, delivered by one of his men, had detailed for her instructions on what would happen next. Tomorrow she would climb up into the hansom that Jedediah would send for her and traverse towards a house in Hackney, some ten miles away. There she would stay for 7 days. She was not to wear black. She was to bring a few dresses, one fancy dress, and whatever feminine toiletries she required. Otherwise, all would be provided for her. She need not worry about drink, food, entertainment or anything else.

_Anything else._

It was that vague and seemingly innocuous phrase that made her thoughts race.

She had been a married woman for a decade, she should have had knowledge of every part of her husband’s body, and he of hers. Yet that was not the case.

Her husband had forced himself on her on their wedding night and, finding her tears unacceptable, decided to abandon her to find alternative entertainment elsewhere. Trust broken, she had refused him in her bed from then on.

She had become cold. Angry.

Her brothers back home would have found him in the night, dragged him out into the street in nothing but his drawers, and beat him to death as retribution for hurting and humiliating their little sister, but they were miles away. She was alone in this dreadfully cold, wet and dirty city.

Elena massaged perfumed oil into her legs. Legs that had been wrapped around a man’s waist only once. A man she did not love. A man who did not appreciate them for their strength and shapeliness. She had been a dancer since she was a child. Her satin pointe shoes lay shoved together and wrapped in their pink ribbons, stuffed away in her trunk, a reminder of the sensuality and passionate discipline she once had in her life. Day after day she practiced, dancing with a smile on her face through the pain. There was never the pleasure without pain. Pain that reminded her that she was alive.

She had not felt alive since she came to England.

She had not seen a proper barre for ten years, but when she had the house to herself, she might practice her old drills - movements that were ingrained in her mind, movements that had been executed by every ballerina since the beginning of time. These drills kept her flexible and toned. Most importantly, they kept her sane.

Sanity was not what she felt in this very moment. What was this was madness she felt? Its heat lodged itself in her womb as soon as he had touched her hands, her chin. The English bastard, whose eyes were as sharp as knives, sought to take advantage of her vulnerability, yet deep down, in that heat inside her womb, she knew she was more in fear of disappointing him than angry at his brazen demands.

She doused the hot coals and climbed into her bed.

 _“I will own you, body and soul,”_ he had said.

She shut her eyes, then forced her mind to clear. It would do no good to worry about anything now. She had once known how to speak with her movements. She would find a way to recover that lost language, but not this night.

*****

Jedediah remembered the first time he had seen Mrs. Elena Hartley.

One year past, on a dreadfully hot and muggy summer evening, a mugginess that reminded him of Hong Kong, he had been in attendance at the Policeman’s Ball. He would not have gone, the idea of being in a room with several unwashed and sweaty bodies was not exactly enticing, but he was to receive formal recognition from the Bow Street Magistrates for taking down 5 men in an armed robbery singlehandedly and he was not one to turn down public recognition and the limelight.

That evening, he and several others had complained to the management that air was needed. Porters were sent to satisfy the request, only to discover that this task could not be completed due to the windows having been painted shut. After an hour of the suffocation, Jedediah could take no more.

 _We run the bloody world, yet we can't open a fucking window_ , he thought to himself.

He had escaped to one of the ballrooms where the french doors could be opened and allow a merciful breeze to cool and dry the sweat beads that had begin to drip down his back. One by one. In the corner sat a lone chair, so, having unpeeled his coat and tie, he plopped himself down with a groan.

The sound of swishing skirts brought him out of his reverie. A woman, it was, with the same idea as he, fanning herself with one gloved hand and holding up her long hair from off the back of her neck. She was in a low-cut, crimson confection of a dress. A vision, he thought, who was either unaware or unconcerned that anyone else might be in the room as well.

With a straight back, she seemed to float around the room, her eyes moving upward as she studied the ornate ceiling and chandeliers that hung unlit and dormant for the night.

He heard her sigh. A musical, feminine sound that hummed in his ears.

She stopped, looked back at the door whence she came as if she wanted to be certain no eyes were upon her. Satisfied that she was alone, she held an arm out and twirled. And twirled. And twirled.

When she finally stopped she took a deep breath, pressing one hand on her corseted belly. He noticed a smile tugging at her lips.

He knew that feeling. The feeling that boxers sometimes felt during and after the fight. Dancers and boxers were not that different. Movements practiced over and over until exhaustion hits, your joints ache, your skin tears, but you keep going until perfection, precision is achieved. No pleasure without pain. Movements that have been practiced by men and women throughout the ages. Ancient art forms, both.

Rumors had swirled about the Police Force regarding the Russian wife of D.I. Michael Hartley. Rumors that did her no credit, painting Hartley as the poor sod whose frigid and foreign wife had all but shoved him into the arms of all the whores in town. After spying her in that ballroom, seeing the passion that emanated from her as she danced alone, he knew that there had to be more to it.

Besides, smart men knew to never owe Jedediah Shine and Ol’ Mick was a fool. Jedediah could not help but raise a glass to his memory, blessing him for passing such heavy debts onto his beautiful widow.

When he had received her note asking to meet with him he had already gathered what she would ask. And when she appeared before him, such a sad little bird she was, he was ready to strike a deal with her. One he knew she could not refuse.  

 _“Will you hurt me?”_ She had asked in earnest.

He chuckled into his whiskey.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Elena’s cab, driven by two uniformed policemen, jostled roughly over a pothole on the muddy street, stirring her from her daydreams. She had been told that they were no longer far from the house in Hackney.

Arriving in front of wrought iron gates, Elena unfolded herself out of the cab, and glanced up at the front facade of the neo-classical structure. It was a grand looking townhouse, attached to others that looked identical to it. The steps and columns before the front door were perhaps Portland stone. Money had been spent to create a clean and powerful looking entrance. It was a place that looked beautiful and graceful, not sinful and degrading. It was not a place where she expected Jedediah Shine to call home.

One of the policemen helped her down as the front door opened. At the top of the steps, Elena was greeted by a cold-looking woman in a black gown.

“Welcome, Mrs. Hartley. I am Mrs. Manning, the housekeeper. Please come in.”

“Thank you,” Elena said shyly, stepping inside.

The walls were paneled with a dark oak, upon which hung oil paintings depicting pastoral settings, some Asian in nature, and rich tapestries. Thick carpets covered the polished wooden floors, and a staircase rose to the right. To the left was a large hearth.

“Mr. Shine has asked me to convey his regrets that he is not here to greet you personally. He has been called away on police business, but will return as soon as he can.”

“Alright,” murmured Elena, secretly relieved that he was not there.

As her trunk was unloaded, she followed Mrs. Manning up the stairs and down a long corridor with dark wood floors covered in thick rugs. Mrs. Manning then opened a door on the right leading into the suite where Elena would stay for the entirety of her short visit.

Floor to ceiling windows, draped in gauzy curtains, were to her left. The windows looked out over the back garden, a sea of chimneys and rooftops, and behind all of it, Big Ben. Elena smiled. How very London, she thought. She turned and looked at the room- the draperies and wallpaper, all in shades of mauve and cream. It was quite feminine and tasteful. The bed, which sat high off the ground, was covered by a silk canopy, the furniture was delicately styled. In other circumstances, Elena would have been proud to call it hers.

“This room is so very charming,” she said to the housekeeper.

“Yes,” replied Mrs. Manning curtly. There was nothing overtly rude in her tone,  but Elena had the feeling that the housekeeper must have decided she was a whore and therefore not worthy of staying in the house she managed.  

Elena began to take off her coat and unpin her hat.

“Would you like some tea, Ms.?” Mrs. Manning asked as she reached for the items so she might hang them in the downstairs cloak closet.

“Oh yes, please. That would be very nice. Thank you.”

“Very well then. I shall be back with a tray soon.”

Elena watched as Mrs. Manning disappeared from the room, shutting the door quietly behind her. Alone, Elena walked over to one of the windows and unfastened the latch, opening the room to a noonday breeze. She wouldn’t exactly call any London breeze fresh, but at least it was not the stale air that permeated inside the room. The wind lifted the curly tendrils from her brow, and she closed her eyes and tried to calm the tension that had been building inside her for ten years.

She turned away from the view and suddenly noticed a door discreetly hidden against the wall next to the head of her bed, nestled inside the woodwork.

An adjoining room. Of course, she thought.

Turning the brass knob, she found it unlocked and swung it open cautiously, peeking inside.

If her room were a sex it would be female. This one she looked into now was most definitely male.

Shades of dark green and brown covered the walls, carpets, and furniture. The bed was also covered with a silk canopy, but the coverlet was a richly patterned emerald velvet, heavy and inviting. She found herself staring at it, wondering what Jedediah would expect from her. Demand of her.

The sound of a tea tray clinking down on the table in her room made her jump and and quickly shut the door.

“That is Mr. Shine’s room, Ms.,” the housekeeper explained.

“Yes, er, where is the water closet?” Elena asked, hoping to divert the housekeeper from any thoughts she had about what she was doing in his room.

“There is one master water closet. It is accessed through Mr. Shine’s room.”

“Oh,” Elena’s face fell.

“Mr. Shine has made it clear that you are to treat this house as your own during your stay. Therefore, you may walk through his room at any time, day or night. Whether he is here or not.”

“I understand. Thank you.” Elena brought the tea cup up to her nose and breathed in its aroma.

“If you wish to rest for a while, you may. Mr. Shine has instructed me to allow you freedom to sleep and bathe as you wish. You may also read in the garden, if you like, whilst he is away.”

“Thank you,” Elena said again over the edge of the tea cup. The deal was sounding quite lovely so far.

“Mr. Shine has requested supper at 7 PM. If you need me, more tea or anything at all, please don’t hesitate to pull on the ropes in each room. I shall leave you to rest and prepare yourself for supper.”

*****

The grandfather clock in the hall struck the hour as she came down the stairs in a dress she had brought with her. It was a low cut dress, the decollete quite low for English tastes, but it showcased her bosom perfectly. It was her favorite color, crimson, and it complimented her dark features perfectly.

She walked down the hall to the dining room and stopped at the door. The room was lit by a single silver candelabra, the table, covered in a white linen cloth, could serve ten, but tonight was set for two. Crystal goblets were filled with red wine.

Where was -

“Hello Elena,” a deep voice came from behind and she nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Mr. Shine!” She squeaked. “I’m sorry. You startled me,” she laughed, her hand on her bosom.

“My apologies,” was all he said. “Shall we?” he asked, gesturing towards the table. He pulled out the chair for her and scooted her in with ease. “Red suits you.”

“Thank you,” she said somewhat cautiously. He settled into his own chair as Elena grabbed the bottle of burgundy. “Now we shall taste some of this red, yes?” She said lightly, trying to ease her own tension. Drops of wine dribbled onto the linen. Her forehead creased in disappointment. She had been unable to stop herself from shaking.

“You needn’t be afraid, girl. We are merely supping, after all, are we not?” He asked with an amused glint in his eye.

“We are now, yes. But, later…” her eyes began to glisten.

He exhaled sharply and regarded her. “You are correct, Elena. But for now, sup. _Eat_ ,” he translated as he noticed that she did not understand the slang. “Drink. Enjoy the company. I certainly will.” He said as he dug into his beef with a fork and knife.

When he noticed that she merely moved the morsels around her plate, he looked at her darkly. “Elena, no one is forcing you to stay. You came of your own free will, and if this arrangement we have,” he waved his knife around indicating the table, but meaning much more, “does not suit you, well, just say the word. I will have the cab brought around straightaway.”

Her forehead crinkled into a question. “You know I cannot leave, Mr. Shine. You gave me no other choice but to come here for seven days. _Podonok_.” _Bastard._

“Many people face these types of hardships, Elena. I have no doubt you would have no trouble finding an alternate means of obtaining the money your husband owes me.”

“What exactly do you mean?” She knew exactly what he meant.

“There are many girls on the streets of London who owe money, Elena. You may find it more palatable to join that miserable throng of destitutes. If you ask me, this here, this act of kindness on my part, is an offer of mercy.”

His words burned through her, but he was right. What he offered was an act of kindness considering her choices. She raged inside at the injustice of it all.

“So, shall I be calling the cab, or will you be accepting my offer of hospitality here per our agreement?”

“I stay, Mr. Shine,” she said in a tight voice, hating him for his smug arrogance.

“And I am glad to hear it. Now, you remember the terms of our agreement, do you not?”

“I do.”

“Good. So, when I say eat. I mean for you to eat. Now.” It was a command.

“ _Chtob ty sdokh_ ,” she said under her breath. _I hope you die._

She dug in, and truth be told, she was famished.

“Lady, let us not wish for my passing just yet. Not before you've met your end of the agreement,” he said between sips of wine.

Her stomach plummeted. How did he understand what she had said?

“Believe me when I say, you'd rather it be me than have Ol' Addison knocking on your door." He chewed on a morsel of beef. "Truth be told, I’m not the villain here, Elena. You can thank your ex Mr. Hartley, God rest his pathetic soul, for putting you in this situation. If you allow it, you may find pleasure in my bed. Ecstasy, even.”

She bit the side of her cheek and stared at her wine glass.

He sighed and shook his head.

“If you do not enjoy yourself this week, that will be your fault. But you should know that I have no patience for the wailing or the hysteria that your sex is accustomed to using as a means of persuasion. Now, I don’t expect you to be enthusiastic or even amenable most of the time. But you will come to me willingly, or else our agreement is null and void. Am I understood, girl?”

She nodded.

“And if you happen to find pleasure, and I assure you that you will, please feel at liberty to express it. Scream it, should the urge hit you, for I do like the sound of my own name."

She picked up her wine glass and gulped a heaping amount.

He heard the gulp and gave a hearty chuckle.

*****

Jedediah sat back in his chair and took in Elena’s vision. Her lips, the upper one slightly thicker than the bottom, kissed the edge of the crystal goblet as she lifted its bottom. The wine had warmed her icy veins and her eyelids had now begun to hood her dark eyes. He felt a stirring in him. Something visceral commanding him to seek release.

She felt his eyes on her and slowly placed the crystal goblet back on the table.

“Stand up,” he commanded.

She slowly gazed at him, but did not make a move.

“Stand up,” he repeated.

She scooted out from the table and stood.

“Take off your dress,” he said flatly.

When she did not immediately act he said coldly, “I do not expect to have to repeat myself, girl.”

One by one, she undid the silk buttons on her sleeves and then deftly contorted her arms to undo the column of buttons that ran along her spine. The bodice fell to the floor in a whisper, revealing the whalebone corset cinching the thin cotton chemise against her supple breasts.

“Carry on,” he said.

Her hands, trembling, reached back to untie the tape that held her skirt together. Fumbling, Jedediah stood to lend a hand.

“Here, allow me,” he said with an almost gentlemanly tone, as he stood and moved to her.

She felt him tug and pull the satin tape, pushing the skirt down, making it glide down her body, knowing his eyes were on her at all times. She could feel his breath on the nape of her neck, a whisper of a kiss against a shoulder, then fingertips softly tracing lines up her arms. Jedediah watched in amusement as his touches left goosebumps in their wake.

With an abrupt tug her ribs rejoiced from a sudden release and she heard the corset plummet to the floor with a flat thud.

The white chemise fell off her shoulders, down her frame.

He sat. Within seconds she turned, naked before him. She knew what he saw: hips that were once strong and muscular, but now softer from lack of use, a pale stomach that was slightly rounded, a patch of dark pubic hair…

A dark flush outlined his sharp cheekbones.

The heels on her boots all at once felt as if they had grown by several inches. Her pelvis jutted forward in a most unseemly manner, flaunting...everything.

All of her.

His thick, dark lashes lifted and she was pinned by his emerald gaze.

She grasped the fingers that would no doubt be inside her soon and stepped out of the hobble of her drawers, over the mound of her clothing.

The garters that held up her stockings bit into the tops of her thighs as she was positioned in front of him. Jedediah stood up and in one swift action shoved the plates out from behind her and cradled her head as he laid her down, her pelvis on the edge of the table. She was to be dessert, apparently.

“Shhhh,” he whispered as he felt her tense up. Elena felt his hand caress her cheek, down her neck, her breastbone, her abdomen, and lower... Jedediah felt himself hardening in his trousers as he watched her eyelids become heavy, her nipples harden from his touch, her body relax. A delicate hand came upon his as she locked him in her gaze.

Jedediah pushed her legs wide and stared at what was spread before him: delicious thighs leading to gorgeously moist pink and red flesh, framed by raven curls. It was a feast fit for a king and yet he felt like one of the thousands of homeless London beggars, hungry for everything and unable to decide which delectable treat to savor first. He wanted to lick her and touch her and fuck her all at once.

“You are beautiful, Elena,” he said huskily, reaching out with a rough finger to deliver one long, slow stroke between her moist lips. He moved lower and put his mouth on her slit, hearing her gasp in shock as he began to lick her sweet flesh the way a cat might lap up a bowl of cream.

She cried out in surprise, but he ignored her protests, his large hand pushing her back down on the table when she tried to rise. He plunged his tongue into the crevices of her sex, loving the taste and feel of her. To his pleasurable surprise, he felt her body slowly respond against his mouth, and thus increased the pressure of his tongue until he heard her moan softly.

Soon he felt her hips begin to clench and knew she was so very close.

She gasped again as he began to swirl and tease her throbbing clit hungrily.

He slid a finger in and out of her, stroking the sensitive top wall of her insides. It struck every nerve in her body and she cried out.

Groaning, he slid in a second finger. Then a third. Then he fluted his thumb inside four fingers and stretched her mercilessly.

Jedediah felt her raise her hips to meet the pressure of his caresses.

“That’s a good girl, yes. Can you feel me touching you inside your tight cunny?”

“Ye-,” she barely got out.

“Good. Good. Enjoy this, my dear. You are almost ready. Yes, I can see the pleasure building in you.”

 _“Pozhaluysta_ ,” she whispered tremulously as she thrust her pelvis towards his tongue and grabbed his head. The depravity of the scene made her hungrier for him to be inside of her. _Please._

Heat blistered her cheeks as she stared at the thick fringe of his lashes. They were black as London soot, and so long that the ends clustered together.

His lashes lifted and then she was pinned by his glare. She wanted release more than anything she had ever wanted in that moment. “Please do not stop!” she begged with a sharp whisper.

He lowered his head and continued to stroke with his tongue and thrust with his hand, she meeting his pressure higher and faster until he felt her convulse against his hand with a deep, gutteral moan.

Air refused to come as she watched Jedediah pull his hand from her body and thoroughly lick her juices from his fingers.

A flood of sensations threatened to overtake Elena. His sudden absence was felt quite keenly in her heart, her body, her mind. What she felt was insanity. Surely. She should hate the bastard. Only she didn’t.

It had felt extraordinarily good to feel him touch her. He was like the devil feeding on her soul just then. And now the devil was her.

She needed Jedediah.

She wanted to taste Jedediah.

She yearned to place her hands on Jedediah’s buttocks, feeling them move up and down like a piston as he pumped his cock in and out of her, slowly, deeply, mercilessly.

She wished to hear the grunts and groans in his throat as he moved within her, as he took his pleasure over and over again. Steal the breath from him as waves of pleasure engulfed him.

But she did not sit up, she did not say a word without his permission. She merely reached out for him and hoped that he would allow her to touch him.

He throbbed. Like her clitoris had throbbed. She saw in his eyes a sudden fierce need. “Elena…” her name came out on raspy plea and in a flash she was in his arms ascending the carpeted steps to his chambers.


	5. Chapter 5

Elena lay back where she had been deposited on the large canopied bed, looking out of the curtains at his downcast gaze. In the darkness of the room, his body was outlined by a soft aura from the light of the low-lit corridor. She could not see his eyes, only his fine form, the curls that fell along the side of his collar, the shirtsleeves that stretched along the muscular planes of his arms, arms that lay relaxed down his side. Relaxed, despite the tension she could feel from his body. 

For a brief moment, he merely looked down at her. His eyes were fixed on hers like a hawk, allowing her to take in the site of him, daring her to find any part of him, clothed or otherwise, that would not be judged superior to other men.

Cocky _kobel_ , she thought. _Dog_.

Smirking, he shrugged out of his silken waistcoat, then reached behind his neck to unhook the band of his puff tie, and let both fall to the floor as he lowered his arms.

He undid his cuff links, placing them in his pockets, and turned to the bedside table where she could hear him handling the gas lamp.

Slowly, the room filled with the soft haze of the lamp as Jedediah reappeared before her. He was now holding a tin of French Letters, most commonly referred to as rubbers or condoms. It landed on the bed with a clangy, tinny sound.  

Elena could see his chest peep out of the ever widening vee at the neck of his dress shirt. Suspenders snaked down. Then, crossing his arms, he grasped the sides of his shirt and jerked it over his head. 

As he shucked off his boots, Elena mused that the man enjoyed having eyes on him. He enjoyed being the main attraction. Pugilists are all the same. Her brothers were no different.

Indeed, he was beautiful. He was a dirty, bent, cocky Londoner. But, he was beautiful.

Breath bated, she watched as he peeled his trousers down over his hips and his muscular thighs. Then he turned and presented himself in his full glory. Her gaze fell from his forehead to the graceful bones of his clavicle, to his chest, his defined shoulders and arms, the hard, narrow waist. Then lower still.

She swallowed and gaped at the source of his prowess. The vitality she found there matched the rest of his body. His endowment. It was full of strength, desire, life.

Her gaze leapt up to his green eyes that waited for hers.

He held out his hand. Slowly, she crawled over towards him, then rose up on her knees. She placed her hands flat up against his chest and blinked into his gaze. He was as sturdy as a granite pillar. Strong arms snaked around her as his mouth came down to hers.

He paused and pulled away slightly, studying her face. Then came his kiss again, engulfing her, swallowing her whole.

She was pushed backwards on her back.

Moist heat feathered her hair, fanned her cheek - his warm breath. She stared up at him and waited, waited for the pain, waited for the pleasure. But nothing came yet.

“Grab one of those rubbers, girl. Then put it on me,” he said huskily. Obediently, she reached to her right, twisting only her upper torso to open the tin that was stamped with a picture of Queen Victoria.

She removed one as Jedediah unselfconsciously positioned his manhood for her.

“You are wet,” she observed curiously as she felt the drop of fluid on the top of the engorged head.

“As are you, my dear,” he said with a grin.

Elena attempted to roll the thin rubber sheath over the head of his penis, but no matter how hard she tried it would not go.

“That’s alright, love. It just needs a bit of persuasion,” he said, as he dipped his right hand down into the folds of her flesh. A rough finger gently swirled, making her feel the wetness of her arousal. Then Jedediah took his moist finger and swirled it around the head of his cock. “Right, now try again. That’s it. Pinch the tip of the condom,” he instructed raggedly, “to leave a bit of room… yes. Just like that.” She heard him sigh. “And roll it on up.”

When she was on her back again, she could feel something large and round separating the lips of her wetness.

She whispered a protest. He stilled and looked down at her.

"Say it, girl. What is it you want to say?"

“It is only...that I…” she breathed.

“That you...what,” she felt him say along her cheek. But he didn’t give her a chance to respond. “Say it, Elena. Tell me…”

“It has been a very long time, Jedediah.”

“Been a few weeks for me as well,” he tried to reassure her.

That was not what she meant. “No, no. Ten years for me, Jedediah.”

In his mind he tried to fathom the amount of time. Surely he had misunderstood her. Surely she had mistranslated the time. Had ‘Ol Mick not touched this gorgeous piece of flesh in a decade? Was the old cock a barmy as well as a dickhead?

Her eyes pleaded with him to be gentle, but he would have none of it.

She clutched his shoulders and looked up at him.

“Keep your hair on, girl. There will always be a little pain,” he said with a kiss. "However, I assure you, you will come to enjoy it." The pressure she felt between her legs knifed forward.

Elena forgot what was left of her dignity and cried out, the sound muffled by Jedediah’s mouth.

Elena involuntarily tried to push him away; to escape this pain.

But Jedediah grabbed her hip with his right hand while his left hand burrowed underneath her buttocks.

“Hold still, girl.”

Elena gritted her teeth; tears stung her eyes. “ _Hvatit!_ ”

“C-come again?”

“Please stop! Enough, Jedediah. It hurts!”

"Look at me, girl.” She did. “I’m not all the way in. Just let me -” one more hard thrust. She felt spitted, unbearably stretched. Tears fell from the outside corners of her eyes, down her temples towards the silk covers.

“Elena, Elena, look at me. Tilt your hips down, and breathe.” He gritted out the words, pulling back then trying again. The tip of his penis was barely inside her when he heard her gasp sharply.

He slowed and pulled back in bewilderment. She was clenched tighter than a drum. _Christ Almighty_ , he thought. It would not do to injure her, but at this point he had to complete the job at hand.

Bit by bit, he slowly slid forward within her.

He pressed his forehead down onto hers as he felt her body relax. Then with a final surge, he was very nearly home. Her delicate muscles contracted around his cock, driving him to madness.

“Elena? There, there now. I’m nearly all in.” His voice was a ragged whisper against her temple as his chest loomed over her, a leviathan of a man above her.

She tried to close her eyes.

“No, you do not hide your eyes, girl. Elena. Look at me,” he ordered, and her eyes fluttered open.

She did as she was told as Jedediah pulled himself out of her, then pushed himself back in again. And again. And again, until he had created a stinging rhythm that she instinctively responded to.

“Elena, I know you have felt the pain. But, you will feel the pleasure. I will make sure of it,” he breathed into her ear. “You were made to accept all of me inside you. Tilt your hips more. Ride my cock.”

His angle changed.

His rhythm altered.

Elena gasped again.

Blistering pleasure jolted upward from her clitoris which rubbed again and again against his hardness.

Elena's eyes and mouth fluttered open as she felt him pushing and pulling. Pushing and pulling.

Beneath her fingers she could feel the sinewy muscles on his back tense as his lungs expanded and contracted from the vigor of holding back. He would not finish before she did.

She felt another burst of pleasure and cried out.

“Yes," he hissed in her ear. "Now. I want you to come, girl,” he commanded raggedly.

He watched her as her forehead crinkled with concentration. She was so close he could feel the tight muscles of her vagina contracting around him, squeezing him for release.

Then, in a flash Elena exploded and gasped at the pleasure that tunneled inside her body. She cried out and latched her mouth on the bare shoulder above her. Her other hand reached up to squeeze onto the back of his neck, feeling and grasping the wild curls that caressed the bumps of vertebrae underneath the skin there.

He smiled into the pillow, allowing her this pleasure. But now he urgently needed to be fully sheathed within her. With a grunt, Jedediah placed one hand on her buttocks to keep her firmly impaled and got to his feet. He spun and sat down hard on the side of bed so that Elena sat straddling his waist.

She let out a sharp exhale and gasped in agonized pleasure at the sensation of the pressure in her core.

" _O bozhe_...," she sighed loudly, sublimely. _Oh My God..._

She had thought he was completely sheathed within her before. But no _. Now_ he must be completely inside her.

Scalding heat climbed down her throat, down to her breast. He latched onto her nipple and suckled while he ground his pelvis up into her. Her back arched as his rough hand supported her body.

He suckled and suckled and ground and ground.

Higher and higher.

He couldn’t possibly go deeper, but he did, and she cried out again in uncontrollable release.

As she fought to catch her breath, she felt strong arms close around her tightly. He groaned. He moaned. His fingers kneaded her back so hard she was sure she would have bruises. He buried his face in the crook of her neck as she felt him yield to the sensual pleasure that broke upon him in a wild shudder.


	6. Chapter 6

The twittering of birds outside the grand windows greeted Elena. She opened her eye, momentarily disoriented as she found herself in the large, comfortable bed. She mewed and twisted her body, wanting to enjoy the feeling of the bed a little longer. She felt Jedediah’s presence in the room, but did not seek to find him. Sleep overcame her once again, and as her eyes rolled into the backs of her eyes, she yielded for a moment longer.

Jedediah, hearing her yawn and stir, took steps to finish his toilet quietly so as to allow her to slumber a little longer. 

As he dipped his toothbrush in the tin of tooth powder and jabbed the brush into his cheek, memories of the night past flashed into his mind: the caresses, the kisses, the whispers... the way they had both fallen asleep as she lay draped over his chest, both striving to repossess their breaths. 

Thus far, he was feeling fortunate indeed to have been in a position to resolve such a woman’s dire misfortune.

He spit the remnants of tooth cleaner into the washbowl and tapped his brush on the counter. Drying his hands and mouth, he stepped out to greet the sound of silverware and ceramic cups tinkling outside the door.

“Mister Shine, sir?” The muffled voice of Mrs. Manning came from the other side.

He opened it, placing a finger to his lips to indicate that Ms. Hartley was still resting. 

“Place it by the French doors, if you will. The lady may wish to take her breakfast with a bit of  fresh air,” he ordered quietly.

“Of course, Mr. Shine.”

Jedediah went back to the water closet and tossed down the hand towel. 

“Mrs. Manning,” the housekeeper stood at attention as Jedediah reentered the room, “I must head early to the station house and see to a few things.” He turned and looked around distractedly, searching for his pocket watch. “Ah,” he offered as he came upon it on the floor next to the bed. “Please bring up some Epsom salt for the lady. She may wish to have some in her bath this morning.”

“Yes, sir.”

He fixed his watch onto his waistcoat and shrugged into his dress coat. “It may be late afternoon before I find I can return. Please see to it that Mrs. Hartley has everything she needs today. If she wishes to go into market, please see to it that she use the cab I have for us this week. One of my men will wait by the cab to take her there and back again.”

“Of course, sir.”

With one last look at her sleeping figure underneath the sheets, Jedediah turned to Mrs. Manning, who followed close behind. “My thanks to you, Missus. Good day to you.”

“Good day to you, sir,” he heard the old woman say as they stepped out of the room.

*****

In her sleep state, Elena thought she had heard the shutting of a door and the scrape of boots on the parquet floor, but it was the smell of hot tea and rolls which roused her from her sleep.

With a flutter of her eyes, she looked up.  An ornate wooden, silk-covered canopy stared down at her. 

She shifted her hand across a cool, slippery-soft sheet and touched her naked hip.

The pungency of sex and sweat abruptly overwhelmed the warm smell of tea.

Elena squinted into a vision of sparkling panes of glass that materialized out of blinding sunshine - the tall French doors of Jedediah’s bedroom. 

A teakettle solidified out of  shimmering dust motes. 

Her stomach growled, but as she sat up she winced. Slowly, she threw her legs over the side of the bed and stood. Her morning robe lay across a velvet, wingbacked chair that sat in the corner of the room. She stiltedly strode towards it, feeling the tenderness in her nether regions and her legs. With each stride, she willed her blood to circulate to each place of soreness and work its magic. A hot bath would do nicely, but she was famished and that small table by the French doors that held the tray of tea and rolls called her name. 

She poured her tea. The scent of bergamot wafted around her.

Elena grabbed a roll, still warm wrapped in a cheesecloth, and tore it open. She dabbed a dollop of butter into its steamy center and watched as it melted and seeped in. She took a bite. Delicious. 

She followed with a few cautious sips of the tea.    
Elena relaxed, and ate her breakfast with a measured slowness, savoring each bite. She stared out of the window into a blue sky and, after placing the back of her hand on the window to test for cold, decided to open the doors and allow the air in. Looking out, she took a deep breath.

Memories flooded her consciousness - of him bringing her to pleasure on the dining room table, of him taking her in his arms, of him standing before her naked. Of all the things they did together on the bed behind her.

Color flooded her cheeks as she smiled to herself, in spite of the circumstances. 

He had told her he would ensure she felt the pleasure along with the pain. 

And he did. 

Again and again.

She ached now.

With renewed passion. With lingering pain. 

In the early morning hours, they lay entwined, daring the night to allow them one more play. But she had bled as though she were a virgin and the thought filled her with an inexplicable rage. Rage and humiliation. 

There had been a visible change in mood behind her eyes, from what he was not sure, and so, being drunk on bringing her pleasure, decided he needed one more taste before the birds began to sing. 

_ She felt the bed shift under his weight, which had brought her out of her angry reverie, then his nose brushed the inside of her thigh. Hot moisture trickled out of her pulsing, throbbing vagina. _

_ He felt her giggle at his tickling. “I n-need to wash, Jedediah.” _

_ “What we did this night past did not dirty you.” His breath fanned her raw, aching lips. “Allow me to lave away your pain. After all, it is because of me that you hurt, is it not?” _

_ Lowering his head, he delicately lapped at her exposed, vulnerable flesh. Her labia first, a quick lick, parting the lips. Slowly, thoroughly, his tongue swirled at the portal of her vagina, plunged inside it, impaling her. He lapped and lapped until the raw tenderness was gone and pleasure, just as sharply invasive, ripped through her and she was straining for more. _

_ Elena frantically reached out- only to grab fistfuls of curls. _

_ Jedediah raised his head, his swollen lips shiny with her arousal. A muscle jumped at the corner of his mouth. _

She let out a sharp exhale. Upon seeing his face thus, she was now certain that not all men were like her dead husband. She also felt that not all men were like Jedediah Shine. What exactly that meant, she hadn’t the energy to analyze. 

Whatever these emotions were, one thing was for certain: shame was nowhere to be found. 

A soft knock interrupted her thoughts. 

“Come in.”

The bedroom door pushed open as Mrs. Manning appeared before her with a glass jar full of a white crystalline substance. The jar had a label affixed to it: Epsom.

“Pardon the interruption, mam,” Manning said quietly. 

“No, not at all, Mrs. Manning. Thank you for this lovely breakfast,” Elena said with gratitude. 

“I hope it was to your liking. If you need more tea, just ring the bell. Or come down if you like. I shall be in the kitchen preparing lunch.” She looked at the jar in her hands. “Mr. Shine, he has requested that you have Epsom salts for your bath, should you find need.” 

Elena blushed. Ah. There was the shame. 

“I would, thank you.”

“Shall I draw a bath for you, miss?”

“No, no. I can do it. Thank you, Mrs. Manning. I shall come down once I have dressed.”

“Alright, miss. Towels are in the cabinet next to the tub. Here. Let me show you.”

The housekeeper stealthily grabbed Jedediah’s used towel with the experienced hand of a servant who had picked up after others for years.

“Right. Now. There is no gas geyser that is used to heat up this water. You will turn this cold water knob here,” she pointed to one of the cocks, “and the water then goes into this mixing chamber, where it is heated up rather quickly.” She turned the water on. Elena watched with fascination at the chamber as it filled. “You see, it goes up to one quarter full, two quarters full, three quarters full...when the water is up to “Full,” it is ready to use in the bathtub and likewise the shower. To use the shower, you stand inside this copper...grotto...if you will, and then you turn these different cocks to allow the water out from whichever direction you want. Always check the water before you get in. Can never be too careful. 

“It looks like an intimidating, giant copper thing, does it not? But it is actually quite simple once you try it.” Elena smiled at Mrs. Manning’s sudden and welcome change in tone with her, though she tried to not feel the slight insult in Mrs. Manning knowing she was not addressing a true lady of the house and therefore did not need to stand on such formalities.  “You just let me know if you require any assistance.” 

“I will, thank you. Oh. Mrs. Manning?”

“Yes?”

“Where is Mr. Shine?”

“He apologizes, Miss. He had to travel to the station house and take care of some things. Said he would be back late this afternoon. If you wish to go to market or the like, he has provided a driver and a cab for you, Miss.”

“Thank you.”

With a whoosh of her skirts, the busy housekeeper nodded with a smile and took her leave. 

Elena turned to look at the copper bath/shower. She had to give it to the Victorians. They were full of invention. 

She bent over the side of the tub and allowed the heated water to cascade down into the yawning tub. Within moments, the room was full of a muggy moisture. She poured a heaping amount of salts into the water and churned it by hand. She watched as it transformed into the color of diluted milk.

Slowly, with one long leg at a time, Elena entered the bath. The water stung as she forced herself to lower her body all the way down. But the heat was glorious as the water lapped at her nether lips. 

As Jedediah’s tongue had done hours earlier.

Staring up at the copper shower, she decided she would dare to try it. She released the water from the tub and filled the chamber back up. 

“What do you do,” she asked as she turned the “needle” cock. She gasped as water sprayed out at her from all directions. A smile tugged at her lips.

She turned off the “needle” cock. The water immediately stopped. 

“Alright. Now you…” Elena held her breath, then turned the “shower” cock and felt the rain fall on her. With a giggle and a start, she turned her head upward as the hot water gloriously poured over her body. She had never experienced anything like this and for a moment, she recalled running in her father’s garden back in Tambov, caught in a summer rain with her best girlfriend. Such joy. 

Such innocence. 

The chamber emptied and the water stopped. With a slight frown, she twisted the “shower” cock to the left to close it and stepped out of the tub. 

Wrapped in a towel, she stepped to the wash basin and brushed her teeth. She had not felt so cleaned, so scrubbed, in her entire life.

Perhaps she had never been so sullied.

*****

It was half past eleven by his pocketwatch as he stepped into the house in Hackney. A clock chimed the hour in the parlor. A lamp was lit by the stairs, but the house seemed asleep otherwise. 

With a sharp exhale he tossed the heavy keys onto the small entryway table and shrugged out of his plaid coat. 

It was not home. It never had been. It had been acquired in much the same way Mick Hartley’s would have been had Jedediah not seen and seized an opportunity. 

None of this was his.

Not the furniture.

Not the housekeeper.

In truth he didn’t much care for Hackney. He much preferred his rooms nestled in the din of Limehouse, but this week he needed privacy his home would not afford. 

He detached his pocket watch and waistcoat, flinging them over a nearby chair. He unfastened his tie, his stiff collar, likewise tossing them. He untucked his shirt and pulled down his suspenders. 

Whiskey in hand, Jedediah sat down on the divan in the dark with a groan. Legs akimbo, he took a savoring sip and swallowed, then leaned his head back on the back of the couch and closed his eyes, listening for any signs of life within the house. 

Settling noises.

Somewhere a door quietly shuts.

A floor creaks- soft, quick steps- those of a woman. 

The gurgle of the cistern in one of the water closets. 

More soft padded steps. 

A bed shifts. 

To his right, from beyond the front window, a dog barks in the distance. German Shepherd. The Jamesons’ dog, Marlow. The voice of Mr. Jameson yelling at Marlow to be silent. 

The ticking of the clocks. So many Goddamn clocks in this house. 

A cough- the older woman. Jedediah remembers that this is the night that Mrs. Manning stays over due to her husband’s work schedule. 

The faint sound of a door opening. 

He knows Elena is upstairs in his room. He listens for her, but hears nothing. His senses wish to call it a day. He will sit on the divan and rest his eyes for a moment before he goes to her. Yes. Just for a moment.

Then Jedediah hears nothing more.


	7. Chapter 7

“Jedediah?” Elena whispered into the darkness. She could see part of Jedediah’s temple and forehead as it reflected in the blue moonlight. His right forearm and hand lay over the side of the divan’s arm. She followed the line from his fingertips and saw a round, glittering object lying on its side.

She cautiously stepped towards it, pulled up her skirts and knelt. She glanced at Jedediah’s sleeping form and tried to stay quiet. But when her stray hair around her topknot tickled his forearm, instinct overtook him.

In his half-sleep state, Jedediah felt a faceless threat come upon his right side, lurking on its knees. He struck out.

In a blinding flash, Elena felt the hairs on her scalp nearly pop. His hand was helplessly tangled in her hair. He attempted to pull it out, but in his half conscious state didn’t realize how ensnared it was. Any attempt at lifting his hand pulled more strands causing her to struggle more.

Shrieking, she clawed at his wrist, strong and thick like a tree trunk.

Her gaze met his wild eyes.

Jedediah’s heart was palpitating. He had been caught off guard. But she believed him to be attacking her. She would have none of it.

As soon as she could get free, Elena tore away, leaving pieces of her hair hanging off his fingers.

“ELENA!” he bellowed.

She leapt up the stairs, as fast as she could. But Jedediah was quicker than she. A hand grabbed the back of her skirt and she lurched forward, arms out straight to shield her fall.

“Oi!" He said. "What are you--”

She twisted onto her backside and kicked out at him with her left boot. Then her right. Then left again. Jedediah, too shocked to say anything, only wiggled his jaw, feeling it with one of his hands.

“Elen--”

SMACK!

His face snapped to the right from the force of her right hand.

“What the bloody dev--”

Adrenaline pumping through her veins, she jumped up and ran to the bedroom, shutting and locking the door behind her.

His temper now raged. Why wouldn’t she calm down and listen to him?

He stomped to the door.

Elena watched as the doorknob wiggled vigorously.

“Elena,” she heard him say on the other side, “open this door.”

Pause.  

“Now, girl.”

Pause.

“Open the goddamned door!”

Elena ran to the water closet and shut the door, locking it with the flimsy lock that she knew was not sturdy enough to keep Jedediah Shine from getting to her.

She felt her scalp, blood on her fingertips. She groaned. Bitter tears stung her eyes and she folded onto the floor by the tub, wrapping her arms around her knees.

Mrs. Manning opened the door ever so slightly to see Jedediah standing at Elena’s door. He was breathing heavily, one hand on the door jam, the other on the door knob.

“Elena, open this--” he turned and met her gaze. “Oh, hello, Mrs. Manning. Apologies for waking you up at this hour. Seems there has been a been a bit of a misunderstanding between Mrs. Hartley and myself. Nothing too major. No doubt you wish to get back to your own affairs now, I’m sure.”

“Yes, sir. Good night, sir.” Mrs. Manning quietly closed the door, jumping at the sound of Elena’s being kicked in. She covered her mouth with her hand to keep quiet.

Elena’s head snapped up when she heard the bedroom door open. She placed a hand on the side of the tub and slowly stood up, looking around for anything to use as a weapon. Jedediah’s straight razor. She was panting from fear. 

“Elena,” Jedediah said eerily calm from behind the door, “Elena. Open this door.  I did not mean to hurt you. If you would only unlock the door…” Elena’s gaze jumped to the wiggling doorknob.

“Stay away from me!” she warned. “I don’t want you near me!”

She could hear him chuckling sardonically. “Girl, if you would but allow me to explain. I was sleeping, you see, and you must never, EVER, sneak up on a man when he’s sleeping. Open this door. Now.”

“No.”

“I will tear down this door if you do not.”

Silence.

“Very well then. Have it your way…” he said with a shove of his shoulder. Elena jumped as the door flung open.

She had backed up into the farthest corner of the small room, her arm was held out, at the end of it, a shiny razor. His.

He held up his hands in mock surrender and slowly took a step towards her. “What’s this then. Eh? Ol’ Jed don’t mean you no harm. I just wanna talk. Alright?”

He snatched her wrist before she could blink, wrenching the razor out of her hand. She gasped at his grip, reared back, and smacked him with her left hand. His head flew to the left and slowly returned to look at her dead on. A smile crept over him.

“You know, Elena,” he said raggedly as he grabbed her and pulled her close in a forced embrace, “you only serve to make me want you more when you do things like that.” He pressed his groin against hers. “Can you feel me? Eh? Yes. I do believe I rather like your spirit.”

She was hoisted in his arms and pushed up against the wall. He leaned in to crush his lips against her.

She pulled back and slapped him again.

It did nothing but elicit more fire from him. From her. She slapped him again. And again.

Another crushing, devouring kiss, this time he was met by her mouth.

Body trembling, her legs came up and wrapped themselves around his waist where his erection pushed up against her.

His fingertips came across her thighs, holding her up. Her hands clawed at his shoulders, her nails leaving little crescent-shaped markings whereever they went.

He hissed into her ear. “I want you now."

“Yes,” she cried breathlessly. She brought her hands to the wild curls on his head, slightly pulling.

“ _Ya hochy tebya vnutri menya,"_ she moaned wantonly. _I want you inside of me_.

He did not have to know the language to understand what she meant. He could see it in her gray eyes, darkened with lust.

With great agility, he held her up with his left thigh, balanced with his left arm while the other reached down, working to unbutton his front panel. His aching cock sprang forth. With one, hard and fast thrust, penetrated her to the hilt.

Her mouth flew open.

He cried out.

He was merciless, grunting like an animal as he slammed her against the wall, fucking her raw.

The fear in her was replaced with more lascivious moans.

One of her boots fell to the floor with a thud.

Elena wanted to weep, the sensation was so overwhelming as an orgasm began to coil its way up from her womb. She clung to Jedediah for dear life. Her lips found his neck, his jaw that she had kicked, the cheek she had just slapped, his collarbone, his lips.

Jedediah grunted, trying to find his breath with each blissful thrust.

Three more thrusts and she choked out a cry. Blinding light exploded behind her eyelids as Jedediah felt her blissfully contract around his cock.

He shifted slightly, taking hold of her hips and bouncing her off his weeping cock until he was ready to explode.

He pulled back, dropping her to her wobbly knees. Quickly, she sheathed him with her mouth as he stroked his cock vigorously. She held his testicles and sucked the engorged head until he erupted with a shudder inside her, milking him thoroughly.

When reality came back to them both, his shoulders slumped forward.

She placed her hands on his thighs and stood up on trembling legs, seeking his gaze.

He caressed her cheek and brought his forehead down onto hers.

“Elena,” was all he said.

She lead him to the bed and gestured for him to lie down. She undressed and joined him under the covers. He pulled her close to him, her back to his chest.

There was no need to discuss what just happened, for neither of them had any words just yet.

They were too drained. Too spent.

There was naught to do but yield to the beckoning arms of sleep. And so they did.


	8. Chapter 8

Jedediah twisted his torso to reach for his pocketwatch.

It was morning, yet still dark. He set it back down. His mind raced as it usually did as soon as his eyes opened.

Outside the rain pelted the window.

Jedediah stared at the canopy above them, listening to the deluge outside. He had never felt so protected from the elements as he did now.

Elena slept on his shoulder, thigh sandwiching his thigh.

He traced soft skin.

Elena semi-consciously buried her cheek into the palm of his hand. Jedediah buried his face in Elena.

He heard her sigh deeply.

His memory filled with another woman’s sigh. Playful kisses. There had been no goodbyes. Had it been five years already? Five years gone in a flash.

“Is it already morning?” Elena asked sleepily.

He nuzzled a shell-shaped ear. “Yes.”

Thunder rumbled.

Her arm tightened across his chest.

She yawned. Stretched like a kitten as she floated to consciousness.

He anticipated a recoil. She didn’t.

She returned to the position in which she had awoken, arm tightened over his chest, leg brought up higher on his thigh.

The action warmed his heart. The feeling shot straight to his groin.

*****

Delicate fingers toyed with his curled whiskers.

“You are quite fond of your mustache.” She smiled a lovely smile.

He continued to trace soft skin. Eyebrows lifted in humor.

“I like it.” She said.

“I do too,” he grinned.

“Oh, you like everything about you,” she said with mock bite.

Her head shook from the laughter in his chest.

“Why are policemen so fond of mustaches?”

He inhaled sharply. He had never considered it.  “Hm, I don’t reckon I know.”

She regarded him for a moment, then shook her head. “I think it’s a manly thing, yes? You men are always in competition with each other. Who has the biggest...erm... _chlen._

“Eh?”

“Oh you know,” she firmly grabbed his cock and gave it a shake. He jumped. His hand reflexively landed on top of hers to control the pressure.

“That, my dear, is most widely known as a cock."

She rested on her elbow and looked at him curiously. “What other things is it called?”

“Well, it has many names.” Slowly, he recited each one for her. “There's penis. Dick. Prick. Shaft. Rod. John Thomas, Thomas, for short…”

Her hand on his cock. Lovingly stroking. His hand, on hers, along for the ride. “John Thomas?”

“Among others.” Her laughter rang in his ears. He smiled reflexively.

“What others?”

“Erm...ah, let’s see. Knob. Todger. Member. Winkle.”

More laughter. “I have never heard these words!”

“Well, I should hope not. It’s not polite to say these words in the company of a gentlewoman.”

“Lucky for me you are not a polite man.”

He barked in laughter. “Indeed. How is it Mick Hartley, a man enslaved by his sexually deviant proclivities, never took it upon himself to educate his very wife in the vocabulary of the bedroom?”

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Forget Mick Hartley. No, you must be my tutor, Jedediah. I must be your eager student.”

He got up and strode to the water closet. She heard the wooden seat lift, the falling of water, the pull of the handle. Jedediah Shine needed to relieve himself.

The ex-gentleman was a bloody fool.  He climbed back into bed. She moved with him as the mattress shifted under her. “Any other anatomical lessons?” She lay on her back now. He rested on his elbow next to her.

“What are the names for a woman’s bosoms?”

“You mean those two delightful globes of flesh that hang from your chest?”

“Yes,” she nodded eagerly.

“Alright. Let me just hold one of them like so,” a rough hand came up to her breast, squeezing it. She barked a laugh from the sensation.

“Let me see if I can recall all the lovely monikers for these beauties. Erm. Titties, teats, bubbies. Do you know what the pink bits are in the middle there?” She gasped at the sensation of his finger tracing around one. “These little pebbly things that become quite upstanding and very hard, tempting a man such as myself, to suck them...allow me to demonstrate quickly…” his mouth came down on one, sucking and then biting it softly, making her jump at the sensation. “They, my dear, are called nipples. Mmm, the other one is a bit jealous of my attention. Hang on,” he leaned over and sucked on the other, biting a bit sharper this time. She winced. His eyes rose to meet hers with no apology in his expression. “There are three things that vulgar men, such as myself, like to do with these nipples. That is, ‘lick, bite and suck’ them, alright?

“Yes, sir, Mr. Shine,” she said with enthusiasm.

"Now. Would you like for me to tell you about my favorite part of a woman’s body?”

She held her breath.

A rough finger touched her silken flesh. Her legs widened in response.

“The official name of the delightful slit of flesh between your beautiful legs is the vagina.”

“Yes! I knew that one!”

“Did you now, Mrs. Hartley. But lustful men --"

"Such as yourself."

"Yes, Indeed. My, you are a quick-witted one, ain't you. As I was saying, these men tend to prefer more vulgar terms.”

“Such as?”

“Such as pussy, cunny, twat, quim. There are too many to name them all. I take it you’ve had no prior knowledge or familiarity with such terms.”

She shook her head and stifled a laugh. “Jedediah, --” Her breath hitched as his finger came to her sensitive nub.

“Now, I want you to pay attention to what I am doing. This tiny button, at the top of your quim, is called the clitoris. Is it is the source of exquisite pleasure for the rare woman lucky enough to find a man, a lustful or vulgar man, who knows what to do with it.”

Elena moaned.

His eyes darkened. His voice became rough. “And I know what to do with it.”

“Oh you do. Yes.”

His sex now sought the comfort of hers.

“Elena?”

“Yes?” Her voice hoarse as he twisted and shifted to lay between her thighs, forearms cageing her narrow shoulders.

His breath on her cheek, her temple, her forehead.

"And you like it when I do what I do with it, do you not?"

She bit into his shoulder, gently.

"Do you recall what it is I like to do with it?"

She tried to kiss his mouth, but he lifted his head slightly.

Not yet.

Soft, moist heat sandwiched his hard flesh.

“Tell me,” he breathed, “tell me, what it is you like me to do with it.” Her hands glided down his upper back, the small of his back, the round, taut flesh of his buttocks, the firm, hairy musculature of his upper thighs.

“ _Mne_ _nravitsya kogda ti trogaesh men_ …” she whispered.

He stared into her eyes as she said it, as if gaining strength from each word she uttered. His breath became hers.

“English, Elena.”

Their gazes locked as he lifted his hips and she reached down in between their bodies, delving into the heat, grasping his cock, guiding it to what it sought.

Her sex kissed his glans, swallowed his crown. He lowered his hips. Her pupils dilated as she took him completely.

His warm hand curved to the shape of her head as his lips tickled the indentation between her nose and cheek, the side of her lips, her chin.

“I said,” she inhaled, “I like it when you touch me there.”

Out slowly.

In slowly. Deeply. Until her perineum cushioned his testicles.

“I want to hear more names for my vagina.”

He lifted and lowered.

“Snatch.”

Lifted and lowered.

“Crack.”

A small, delicate hand caressed his buttocks, feeling the slow pistoning of his pelvis.

“Beaver.”

She felt his cock kiss her womb.

“Box.”

His breath became ragged. Her breath quickened.

Jedediah could think no more as the metal coils began to squeal.

*****

Jedediah stepped into the bathtub and lay back.

“Come here. Come here. Don’t let the water get cold.”

Elena accepted his outstretched hand and stepped into the tub.

She turned and sank down with a sigh, her back to the faucet so that she faced him. No sooner had her bottom touched the water than she found herself turned, encountering hairy male flesh instead of smooth porcelain. He wrapped his arms about her waist and breasts and pulled her back against his chest.

They soaked in companionable silence, listening to the thunder and the rain.

“Jedediah?”

“Hmmm? Yes?”

“When did you lose your virginity?”

“I was 13.”

Elena would have been 5. A young, innocent and happy girl in Tambov. The apple of her father’s eye. The second oldest child with four brothers. She would have had no idea that men like Jedediah Shine existed half a world away in this dirty city. She would have had no idea that she would be living here, a young widow, and now practically a prostitute.

“Was she a virgin?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did she enjoy it?” She pursued.

Why did it matter?

“She was the older sister of a mate. Offered me her body in exchange for a ha’penny, which was a fortune to us nippers in Bethnal Green,” Jedediah said in a curiously passionless voice. “I had some extra coin on me for doing a job for a local butcher, so I agreed."

Elena felt a rough hand caressing a breast.

"At the time I thought it was a fair transaction. She lifted her skirts and bent over. I was in and out in less than a minute.”

“What did she want the half penny for?”

“There was a costermonger on the corner selling ice cream.”

“Did her brother find out?”

“He was the one who told her to do it. Said he was tired of her asking him for money.”

Elena was stunned. At such a young age.

“Did you enjoy it?”

“Not particularly.”

“Did she get her ice cream?”

“She straightened her skirts and walked off towards the coster like nothing had happened. Smile on her face. Gleaming coin in her hand. I can still see her with her ice cream, licking and giggling with those blackened teeth, remnants of my sperm trickling down the side of her boot.”

“Did she share it with you at least?”

“No. That would have cost me a whole shilling.”

Steam rose around Elena in wavy patterns. She felt herself succumbing to the hot water gently lapping against her sides and belly, to the wiry chest and stomach rhythmically rising and falling against her neck and back. The strands of hair floating around her pleasantly tickled. Her eyelids drooped. Jedediah’s arms became heavier as if he, too, were being lulled to sleep.

She regained focus as she heard the water falling from his elbows in little dollops. He had begun to comb through her hair, nitpicking her scalp.

“What you doing?” She asked dreamily.

“I wish to see if you have any battle scars from our skirmish this night past.”

“Ah.” She usually found his way with words difficult to understand. Sometimes irritatingly so. At this moment, she was too tired to feel anything but the warmth of the water and his touch. Interesting, she thought to herself, how this man could incite such warring sentiment inside her. He had given her no choice to be here, yet she had no call to move. “Yes, she said after a moment, “I saw blood on my fingers last night.”

“I can see that,” she felt him sigh. “Elena,--”

Her hand flew up from under the surface of the water, stopping him. She did not want to hear an apology.

He would allow it. She felt him chuckle behind her. He recalled how she had fought him. “You have extraordinary reflexes.”

She laughed wryly. “Of course,” was all she said, as though Jedediah should have already known. “I was married to Mick Hartley, after all.”

“You’ve had to defend yourself against Mick, I take it.”

“I have.”

“Often?”

A moment passed. “Yes.” She wanted to change the subject. She grabbed a hand that lay across her breast. A delicate finger caressed a scarred knuckle, watching as his hand fisted. “You are...pugilist, yes?”

“How did you know I was a boxer?”

“I was a policeman’s wife. Everyone in the police force knows the great fighter Jedediah Shine. How is it you say…Nobody yet drinks tea blacker?”

He chuckled. “You are nearly there. It is ‘No man yet found drinks his tea blacker.’”

“Ah yes. That is it!”

“Have you seen me fight?”

“My husband allowed me to come to one of your fights. I also read about you in the Police Gazette.”

“Ah.”

“Yes, the Gazette loves you. My husband used to roll his eyes and say “Look, look how these muskrackers kiss this man’s backside!”

Jedediah’s peels of laughter made her giggle. “Muckrakers.”

“Hm? Isn’t that what I said?”

It wasn’t, but he wasn’t going to correct her again. “If I were to meet your brothers in the ring, would I win?”

“Mmm,” she considered. “Alexei and Nikolai you would beat easily. They hit too quickly and too often. They get tired. Dmitri thinks too much. He would try to outwit you, but he is not as strong as you. You have wit as well as strength. But Artem. Artem was like you. He was built like you, as tall as you, and he wanted only to win. Most fighters were scared of him. He killed in the ring before. If you were to fight him, It would have been hard to say who would win. I believe that you both would go all the way to the last round. And in the end it would be up to God who died first.”

“Are you a fan of the sport?”

“I suppose I had no choice but to be growing up in my family. I find it quite...,” she searched for the word in her mental lexicon as he waited patiently, eager to hear her opinion, “quite beautiful...in its honesty.”

He chuckled, amused. “I do not know many women who would call it beautiful. They would rather call it ugly in its brutality and violence.”

She smiled. “Yes, it can be ugly too. Truth is often so. London is full of truth, is it not?”

“Yes,” he said simply.

“And smelly. You fighters can smell like offal.”

He laughed in response. The sound of his bark ringing off the sides of the tiled walls and floors. “So you saw me once fight.” He wanted to hear about her watching him.

“Yes, once.”

“Only once?”

“You English do not approve of ladies in the boxing clubs, Jedediah. My husband also. He only permitted me to come once so he could show me off to the Assistant Commissioner who was there. It was a championship. You won, of course.”

“What did you think?”

“Of the fighting?”

“Yeah.”

“Ehhh. It was alright.”

“Alright? Only alright? The man died.”

“It was a one-sided fight. There was not a competition.”

“Competition is not what I aim for. It’s the win.”

“Yes, of course, it’s the win,” she said dismissively. “But it was over in a round.”

Jedediah stilled, sensing a criticism on the wind. “The men seemed to enjoy it,” he riposted flatly, but she sensed an underlying defensiveness.

“The men.” He felt, rather than saw her roll her eyes. “They just want blood. They want to see violence. And they wish to win money. Like my husband. They were happy to see the man fall. They were happy to see their champion win again because you made them money.

“You have great strength,” she continued, “and you play with the other fighter. Like a...a cat with a mouse. My brother Artem, he used to say “if you can get into a man’s head, you have already won.”

“Your brother knows what it takes.”

“ _Da_. He was a champion for years in our county, he even fought in front of the Imperial family. The fights were usually over in a few rounds. But he became...comfortable. Lazy. Cocky. He enjoyed the attention that came with success a little too much.”

Jedediah watched as strands of her hair floated against his chest, her back. A stray pin plopped into the water. He grabbed it and tossed it.

“One day, a new fighter came, a young man from Siberia. He would stare at my brother and not turn away. My brother would taunt him, but the man was unmoveable. I watched as my brother fell. There was so much blood. Artem fell into a sleep and didn’t wake for one month. He stopped breathing so we prepared his body. When his eyes opened, my mother fainted. He was alive after all. But he wasn’t our Artem. He was never the same after that. His mind was like that of a child.”

It was the one thing no fighter wanted to have happen to them. To become a punch drunk idiot for the rest of one’s life. To be changed forever, not knowing who you were, how to tie one’s boots. Out of respect for a fallen fighter, Jedediah listened silently. But in his mind, he knew this would never happen to him. He’d never allow it.

“You need competition to keep you...how do you say it... _bditel’nyy_...awake, erm. No, it is not the right English word.” She started to gesture emphatically, straining to grasp the word from the air.

“Alert.”

“YES! Yes! Alert. You have to stay alert in boxing. There is always another fighter, a younger fighter, waiting to...erm… knock you down.” Elena punctuated “knock you down” with a small right hook to the air before her.

“Well, Jedediah Shine has been an all-division champion for several years now. I do not plan on relinquishing the title or falling to the canvas any time soon.”

“Of course not. No one does.”

He had heard enough. A bloody woman with the knackers to tell him what he should look out for in his game?

“You are gifted. You are truly gifted,” she reiterated. “And you are not lazy. I can see this. When I watched you, it brought me back to those fights when Artem was at his highest point. It made me very happy. I wish for you that you are given much more time...and much more life...than my Artem.”


	9. Chapter 9

He is not safe, Elena thought. Not to her, leastwise. She had better have care how comfortable she feels expressing her unbound opinions around him, no matter how much physical intimacy they have shared.

For a long while, Jedediah, behind her in the warm water, said nothing. There was a tension in his breathing that made him seem almost feral. Somewhere in the dark recesses of his mind, he seemed to be deep in thought. She felt his gaze on her like physical touches. She imagined he was weighing her out, assessing the value and purpose of her existence, questioning his decision to help her.

He could be absolutely unpredictable in his reactions.

And now so could she.

If she were to be totally candid with herself, she would admit that something had recently shifted within her. Gone was the rage and the insult of her situation. When she woke up this morning, she had felt strangely light, oddly content. Maybe even happy, if such a thing were possible in her circumstances.

“Woolgathering?” She heard his voice crashing through her reverie.

“Hm? What?”

“Are you building castles in the air? Daydreaming? No more musings on boxing strategy or the fate of fallen fighters? The water is getting cold. Hold up your hair.”

Elena jerked up as Jedediah lathered her back and shoulders, immediately following with  a brisk application of a wet cloth. Pulling her around in the tub so that she faced him, he vigorously washed her arms and breasts.

“Jedediah, I am quite capable of--!” She giggled, trying in vain to push his hands away.

He grunted dismissively. “Give me a leg.”

She gave a little huff then shifted back, holding up a leg.

“Now the other.”

Wordlessly, she lowered the first, then raised the other. The back of her calf resting on his shoulder. Her body began to hum with the pleasing sensation of his rough hands on the arch of her feet, her calf, her knee. Behind her knee. He slowed for a second, and his dark gaze danced over her form. Her eyelids grew heavy as she imagined his hand beginning to find its way...

“Alright, now up on your knees, girl.”

Elena blinked at him, owl-like, realizing with a slight disappointment that his hand would not be doing what she had hoped it would be doing. She sighed, got up on her knees and gasped as the cotton cloth came up between her legs. Jedediah washed her thoroughly, more thoroughly than anyone had ever washed her before, and grinning like a devil in response to the look of shock in her eyes.

Was there nothing off limits to this man?

“No need to play the blushing innocent with the likes of me. Up we go, girly.” She struggled as she stood, propelled gently by Jedediah’s hands. “I shall soon need to make my way to the station house. Policing matters.”

Elena stepped out of the tub, wrapping herself with a flannel towel.

She twisted a white enameled tap. Water gushed out of the nickle-plated spout.

She glanced at her reflection, then his, before she grabbed up her toothbrush and a tin of powder from the cabinet drawer.

Behind her, water sloshed and clapped in the tub as Jedediah vigorously scrubbed under his arms, his chest, sticking out first one hairy leg, then another.

He stood on his knees and lathered his genitals. She watched his reflection. His lack of shyness was like that of an innocent child. Sublimely unselfconscious, this man.

He abruptly stood and reached for a towel.

Leaning over the sink, she cupped cold, clear water and rinsed out her mouth.

“I shall be back a bit earlier than yesterday. I thought we might go out for some supper, you and I. Would you like that?”

Straightening - shutting off the cascading water, fingers dripping liquid.

Her steel grey eyes snagged his green. Emeralds that glimmered with a touch of something, something that at times denied the existence of empathy or feeling no matter what lovely words came out of his mouth. No matter what magic his fingers summoned.

She studied his chin, dark with stubble - that reached above the top of her head. His mouth, bottom lip full, rosy pink. His regal nose, that nuzzled her cheek and temple. His slanted eyes, one that suffered a scar begotten from someone, somewhere.

“Cat got your tongue, girl?” He drawled lazily. “Hm?”

Hard heat caged her ribs.

Her towel fell to the floor.

“Yes. Dinner would be lovely.” She said finally.

Jedediah accepted it, no matter how lacking in passion it sounded. He smiled at her reflection, then grabbed his toothbrush that lay before her. An arm reached around her to turn the tap.

He tapped tooth powder into the palm of his right hand - his left arm lifting up her left breast - dipped the toothbrush into the cleaning powder and brushed briskly.

With each brushing motion, the hair that encircled each meaty nipple prickled her back.  His elongated sex prodded her buttocks.

Leaning to the side of her, he rinsed out his mouth. The roar of cascading water abruptly died.

Thick, muscular arms banded her breasts. The weight of his chin clenched her heart.

She had never before experienced intimacy with a man. She had never seen her husband exit the bath, brush his teeth, relieve himself.

She quite liked the openness. The feeling of loneliness, which had become like an old friend to her, was nowhere to be found. She had spent the past couple of days reading in solitude, awaiting Jedediah’s homecoming. Her body always seemed to know when he was near. She swore it became more sensitive as the day progressed, as the clock chimed closer to the hour. Surely she did not imagine it.

One might say she rather liked it here in this house, where oddly none of Jedediah’s personal items could be found. She wondered fleetingly if there was another woman stowed away in some other corner of London. Perhaps a family- a wife, children.

Her presence here was unknown to anyone who mattered in her life, save perhaps her husband’s solicitor. She did not mourn her husband in her heart, but the fear of discovery of what she was doing here, with this man, consumed her. She couldn't give a toss what Mick’s associates thought of her. Her non-Englishness had damned her years ago among these superior people.

She was concerned about her reputation as a respectable woman.

Her father was a former diplomat who still involved himself in politics back home. Reputation was tantamount to him. She shuddered to think what he would say or do to her if he knew.

“Why the trepidation? You concerned about being seen with the likes of myself so soon after Mick’s funeral?”

Lips slid slowly along the top of her shoulder. Back and forth. This man who had no notion of her life.

She tried to organize her thoughts. “Of course I am. If someone sees me out with another man so soon they will think I…”

 _Have become a whore_ , she did not need to say.

He cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders.

“Your recently deceased husband, rest his penniless soul, may not yet be cold in the ground; and to some you being seen taking up company with a man such as myself might seem a mite...curious. I understand. I do.” He lowered his head as his lips kissed the crook of her neck. Goosebumps followed where he kissed.

Without warning, his head shot up. “Do you mourn him, Elena?”

Her eyes lowered. “I do not.”

Five fingers cupped her stomach. Hot air gusted her scalp.

“You certain of that?”

Steel eyes met green in the looking glass. Why on earth did it matter to him?

“Yes, I am certain,” she spat out. “I do not care if they think I mourn Mick or not. I simply do not wish to bring attention to myself. Some of those men have not been very nice to me. I may not speak English perfectly, but I understand it perfectly. I would hear their comments. Mick told me that I sometimes brought it on myself--”

“Mick told you that?”

Jedediah watched the shadow cross her brow.

“Elena, you do know what men are like, do you not? No? When facing rejection, they will seek to destroy that which they cannot have. Have you any idea how much them bastards lusted after you? I do because they told me,” he chuckled. “But when the wives were around, well, of course they changed their tunes. They had to, you see.” His arms tightened, hoping to reassure her. “Ain’t no man going to cause you any discomfort while you're with me. I will not allow it.”

She turned her head into his lips.

He closed his eyes and tightened his arms around her until the world that had alienated her, had found fault with her, disappeared and all that was left was Jedediah Shine - his skin, his heat, his strength, his need.

He turned her body in his arms. Lowering his head, he grazed her lips with his. Jedediah opened his mouth, tongue probing. She opened hers.

“Jedediah,” filled his mouth.

He tasted her lips that were slick with his saliva. “What?”

“Did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Want me? Like those men?”

Shoulders stooping, head bending, the side of his nose against hers. Hot air filled his lungs. A gentle hand lowered to cradle his elongating need. He inhaled sharply against her lips.

“Did you ever touch yourself when you thought about me?”

“Yes,” he admitted without hesitation.

Her hand massaged him, squeezing gently.

“Jedediah?”

Dark lashes lifted, His pelvis thrusted; his sex seeking friction.

“Yes?”

“I want to see you touch yourself now. Take your hand and show me what you did when you thought of me.” She had no idea what she would do if he refused.

Without hesitation, Jedediah’s right hand grasped the swollen shaft that became engorged.

And then the world outside disappeared.

The plum-shaped head suddenly flushed dark crimson and jerked up in response to its master.

His legs- long, muscular legs that were covered in thick, brown hair- shifted...parted.

Making a fist with his right hand, he gently smeared glistening essence dripping from the swollen head, down, and up, around the head, under the foreskin… he was self-lubricating, she realized.

Elena could feel the slick friction. She felt her own lubrication pooling inside her.

A rough hand crudely entered her vagina, seeking more moisture. He found it. He applied it to himself.

Up...down. Up...gathering more moisture. Down again.

Steadily pumping up to the crown. Twisting at the crown. Down to the testicles.

Fingers caressing. Stroking. Pumping.

Elena’s heart leapt as she watched Jedediah pleasure himself. Tears stung her eyes as she watched such private intimacy, intimacy that he had allowed her to see. Her vagina wept as she imagined that it was a vision of her that pleasured Jedediah.

Her.

Never in her life.

She began to feel a pulse throbbing in her nether lips. Her clitoris, like his penis, was now engorged. It sought friction too.

Soughing breathing came from him. Deep within him, a cyclone of pleasure was building speed, building strength.

His fingers tightened.

Her breath quickened.

His left hand cupped testicles that drew tight and close to his body.

Suddenly, his ministrations halted. He looked at her- eyes glimmering with a kind of madness. And a change of heart.

Elena’s eyes widened. “Please don't stop…”

“Get on your hands and knees.” His sudden command was delivered with the authority she knew so well.

She cocked her head at him. His eyes were dark. Unrelenting.

“Get on your hands and knees and crawl to the bed. Now.”

She began to crawl, looking back to see him turned and following her. He stalked her quietly. A predator.

Arms gripped her waist.

Her lungs fought for air.

Weightlessness.

She bounced onto the bed with a cry. The mattress sank behind her.

His hand rested on her buttocks.

It would not be enough for him to show her how he pleasured himself thinking of her.

“The days of fantasizing about you are over. Spread your legs.”

She quivered at the nudge of a hard, hairy thigh. His hand dipped into her moist, swollen flesh. Then his mouth was upon her. Jedediah inhaled deeply, releasing a gutteral groan.

His cock prodded between her legs. There was a popping sound of a rubber. Then he was inside her, lodged deeply. She cried out.

He lifted her up by the shoulders. She knelt upright; rooted by him. Her back rested against his chest. A hand gripped her by the throat, not threateningly, but firmly nonetheless.

He felt her clench around him.

Nuzzling her ear, he brought his other hand down and tangled his fingers into the dark, moist pubic hair between her legs.

“I need you to cum for me, Elena. My fantasy isn’t complete without you falling apart around me.” With a single finger, he flicked her swollen clitoris.

She inhaled sharply. She made to say something, but faltered.

“What is it?” he asked with a rasp. “Do you need me to allow you your release?”

She nodded her head.

"Say it, Elena. Tell me what you need. I will not do anything unless you tell me."

"I need...you to help me find my...release." She whimpered in his arms, unable to move. Unable to release herself.

Another flick.

Another gasp.

Her hand gripped his, attempting to move it back down, to apply that exquisite pleasure. But he was in control. Not her.

She began to clench around him.

“Yes, that’s a good girl. Milk me, Elena. Drain me dry. This is how I envisioned you in my dreams, I did. Naked, anchored to me, dripping wet, begging me to bring you your pleasure.”

Fingers entwined with hers, he directed the motion of her hand, dipped between her swollen lips into molten silk velvet, gathering up moisture to glide and slide across the throbbing heartbeat inside her clitoris.

Heat frenzied inside her body. With a cry, she slammed her head back against his shoulder as pleasure ripped through her.

He buried his face into the crook of her neck. She turned her face, his hand coming up to cup her cheek, her neck. Shifting himself, his lips clamped down on hers. She felt four calloused fingers circling her clitoris, round and round, until a second orgasm, smaller, but no less rapturous, broke from her. He stole her breath as she cried into his mouth.

“Now bend down." His voice caught. "I am going to take you.”

 _Like a beast_.

Elena bent over and gripped the sheets with both hands to keep her balance as his body slammed against hers.

His hands kneaded her. Repositioned her. Yanked her up off her knees.

Sharp teeth sank into her shoulder. She gasped at the immediate pain and then thought of nothing else.

He was drunk on her moans, her groans. Her begging to take more of him.

Beast fucking beast.

She bit the pillow and cried. Never had he hurt her more, never had he pleased her more.

His orgasm finally ripped through him, they both cried out.

He bent forward, falling slowly on top of her, fighting to regain his breath.

When finally he shifted and padded towards the bathroom, the pull of the handle and the gurgle of water indicated the rubber was on its way into the deep unknown.

He stood in the doorway and saw her lying on the bed. Her gaze met his. 

He returned to her, to her arms that instinctively reached up to embrace him. Not sure if he would be able to let her go after she had fulfilled her obligation to him.

She reached up to stroke his neck, his cheek, and temple. Her fingers traced the round pattern of a shell-shaped ear as she whispered in her native tongue, voice faltering, words only he was meant to hear. And as she did, a rogue tear threatened to betray her, sitting precariously on her bottom lash.

With a blink, it fell.


	10. Chapter 10

“A walking dress, most like,” Jedediah groomed his hair back.  

“A walking dress?” Elena asked, confused.

“Yesh,” he said flatly, taming his whiskers.

“For dinner?” She pressed. “Are we not going to a restaurant?”

No answer but for the sound of the comb tossed onto the porcelain counter.

Jedediah emerged, hands in pockets, leaning against the doorframe.  He looked upon her fine form stretched across the bed. Elena lay on her side, hair loose, head resting in one hand.

He reached for his shirt, one arm, two arms. “Where we go tonight, my dear, will require a bit of walking. And the streets in that  part of town are not made for a long train that will do nought but port horseshit and mud along the way.”

He grabbed a stiff collar, pushing his collar buttons into the side holes. "Did you not bring such a dress?"

"Yes, yes. Of course." She rolled her eyes. “Come, I help you,” she offered getting onto her knees.

The mattress dipped as he sat on its edge. She took the middle button and matched it with its mate on the shirt. A delicate hand reached out, gesturing for the puff tie in his hand.

She brought the tie up and hooked it in the back, adjusting it to fit snugly.

“Put your waistcoat on now," she commanded.

When the last button was fastened she stood before him and slid one end of the brocade tie underneath a lapel. Then the other. Then inserted a tie pin in the center, adjusting it to perfection.

Finding his pocketwatch, she took the T-bar and pushed it through a buttonhole, threading and pulling the fob across his abdomen, then tucking the encased watch into the lower left-hand side pocket. Her hand delved into the silken pouch carefully, thoughtfully. Then pressed her palm to the pocket, feeling the bulge of the timepiece through the material.

"There." She said. "You are ready for the day."

His hand gripped her hair and pulled gently, forcing her to turn her face up.

Elena saw a bleakness in his eyes that was not there before.

“Jedediah?” Her brow creased with concern. She cupped his cheeks with her hands, fingertips combing his sideburns.

Her touch was never careless.

Rough hands clasped soft.

Lips met lips.

He tasted of tooth powder. She of coffee.

His nose brushed against the bridge of her nose, longing to remain there with her.

Jedediah's long, black lashes lifted as she broke away. She, finding the great plaid coat, held it up by its lapels, revealing the red satin lining.

With a smirk, he turned around, threading one arm in, then the other. Then he turned back, twisting his neck left and right, and adjusted his collar.

In a flash she was scooped up.

One more kiss that stole her breath. One more devilish smile.

As he moved away his palm pressed against hers. Fingertips to fingertips. Then nothing but an invisible thread between them.

Every point of contact between them had, in her heart, come to feel significant.

A quickening surge of energy.

The blessed splendor of relief. 

*****

Laura appraised Jedediah Shine from behind the hedgerow as he swaggered towards the awaiting cab. She was careful not to be noticed by the policeman who manned the reins lest she be recognized.

It would not do to be seen. Not yet.

The cab lurched to the side as he stepped onto the small metal step and pulled himself up.

A hoarse voice barked an order to the driver. Then he disappeared into the cab.

A surge of memory, unbidden, invaded her mind. More than a memory. A sentence. Her sentence.

_“What have you done?” She asked Jedediah - he who had said absolutely nothing to her for days._

_“Laura, it will be alright. Please calm down.” She heard the voice, but his mouth did not move. A stranger's voice from behind._

_She froze with the realization..._

_“No,” she shook her head in denial. “You, you murdering bastard!” she hissed at him. Her eyes flashed with anger._

_His eyes flashed with nothing._

_With a sharp intake of breath she lurched forward, clawing at the hollow husk of a torso, wrapped in its fine silk. She spat at his smug face. Her fingers slipped on the slippery fabric. entangling with the fob of his pocket watch. She yanked with all her might. Still Jedediah did and said nothing. She might as well have been made of gossamer. A ghost to him she was now._

_Now and forever._

_Strange hands grabbed her and held her back._

_“No!” She tried to wrench herself free. “NO!” Her face distorted with rage._

_“Laura, there is no reason for you to be frightened.” The strange man reassured her, before the prick was felt in her arm._

_“No,” she said flatly, trying to regain her calm. “Please!” Her voice a whimper. “Please, please pl….”_

Laura blinked as she swam back to the present. She released the breath she had been holding.

“May God yield me His place to punish the wicked,” she heard herself whisper.


	11. Chapter 11

Laura's mind raced as she fought her way through the market place. She was not at all certain where she was going, but she felt she should search for shelter. The sky was turning black and the fog had given way to rain. She was shivering.  Hungry. Anemic.

Passing a dark alleyway, she spied a barrel fire and took the liberty of warming her hands over the meager flames.

A toothless crone and a man with muddy whiskers eyed her suspiciously.

A nearby ad had stated 1886. 1886. Five years. The fact took her breath away. Five years since she had been betrayed. Five years since she had been committed against her will.

Five years since the order for commitment was signed by Shine.

She had not been mad. She had been heartbroken. What he had done to… the truth stopped at the front of her mind. In the flames, she saw the charred flesh of her lover delivered to her in a box with Jedediah looking on.

It was his 'gift' to her. A gift and a message.

She had begged him to kill her then. Then she tried to kill herself. He intervened. Not because he cared for her. 

Because he was a monster.

No one spoke for her when she was taken. No one had come to visit. Days had turned to months. Months into years. Such was the fate of someone who had lost his good favor.

Then Jedediah began to appear in her room. The once faceless apparition hovered in the shadowy corners. Silent as the grave. She did not look at it. She dare not speak to it. Then a face began to form. His face. It would smile its grotesque grin, mocking her misery. A wolf in dandy's toggery. 

She had gripped the bars and screamed Jedediah’s name over and over. The pitch of her voice reaching ear-splitting levels. The fury of the lash from one of the Warden’s assistants laid across her bare fingers. She snatched her hands from the bars and stepped back.

Before her, the prick with the lash grinned at her with blackened teeth.

In her periphery, the bastard grinned at her with blackened teeth.

They were mirrors of each other.

"Alright now, missy. Your Jedediah ain’t ‘ere.” He growled at her in his Cockney accent.  “‘E ain’t comin fer ya. But ol’ Freddie is ‘ere fer ya." Freddie snatched the door open and stepped into her cell. Laura stepped further back, as far as possible from the vicious man who intended to exact hard discipline on her yet again.

“Come ‘ere, tart.” He flicked the lash in the air close to Laura’s head and laughed as she flinched. “It’s time fer yer lesson. Now be a good girl, and do as yer told."

Laura maintained eye contact with him as the back of her foot bumped the small table with her clay water pitcher on it. Her hands groped behind her until she found the handle. “Yes, Freddie. I’m so very sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to--My apologies, Freddie. Please…” Laura struggled to remain calm. She grabbed the clay pitcher’s handle and lifted it up behind her back.

Freddie laughed. Laura flung the clay pitcher into the man’s face. The added weight of the water in the pitcher caused Freddie to stumble backwards into the door. He grabbed his face and let out a primal yell. “You bitch! You broke me bloody nose!”

Laura quickly shoved the bleeding man aside and burst out of her cell. She looked desperately up and down the bleak hallway littered with trash, human waste and several of the poor souls who inhabited the asylum.

Sheer will of survival had consumed her as she padded through the labyrinthine halls until she came to what looked like a servant’s closet.

Shaking hands rummaged.

Boots that are too small. They will do.

Coat.

Scarf.

Butter knife.

It’s all she needed for now.

She could hear distant yelling. They were looking for her. The beasts.

Laura ran. She would not stop. There was a door before her. A door to freedom.

Then she was in the garden. A burrowed hole in the gate. She crawled through.

And the rush of fresh air hurt her lungs. The noise of the street hurt her ears. Her eyes squinted in the grey sunlight that was obscured by the clouds.

She joined the throng of people walking about. Slowing her pace. Covering her matted hair with the scarf. Willing her heart to stop pounding. 

_Just keep going._

For three nights she walked the streets. Stealing what she could from busy vendors in the market.

The man with the muddy whiskers began to take offense with her presence there. He opened his mouth and gruffly berated her from beyond the fire.

She saw the wolf again and turned abruptly, pushing herself back out into the city streets once more.

 

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

The injury to Sergeant Maurice Linklater’s left leg always acted up when a cold rain came. To rest his leg and back, he had sat down on a stump in the middle of the din of the Limehouse market. He stroked his mustache and chin and looked about at the throng of people and carts. Taking out a switchblade, he started to clean the dirt from his nails.

“Oy, Sergeant. Get ‘her outta ‘ere, would ya. She’s bad fer me business.”

“Oo’s that’s then, sir?” Maurice’s growled at the cart’s owner. But he needed no introduction.

Laura stared back at him from underneath the red scarf, here eyes were sunken, her lips were white. 

“Be about your business, sir. I’ll take it from ‘ere.” Standing gingerly, he nodded in the direction of an isolated place and she followed silently.

“Maurice, I can explain.” Her voice was hoarse from lack of use.

He pulled her into an alleyway, stopped and looked over his shoulder, ensuring no one could see them. “What the bleedin’ ‘ell are you doin ‘ere, Laura? Does ‘e...does ‘e know where you are?”

She shook her head. “No. Please do not tell him. Can you help me? I need shelter. Food.”

When he didn’t respond right away, she began to push harder. “Maurice, you cared for me once. Please. Please. I have been walking these streets for three days." 

He ran his hand through his hair and considered. “Blast it! I can’t ‘ave you walking the streets. Come on, I’ll shelter you this night and get you some vittle. You know I’ll ‘elp as much as I can, but you’ve got to be on your way in the morning. Understand? If ‘e knows I’ve spied ya and I didn't say nuffin, it’ll be my balls on the choppin’ block.”

*****  
  
Elena sat in front of her mirror and raised her arms. Placing the chapeau on top of her coiffed hair, she held it in place with her left hand while carefully thrusting a hatpin through material and hair with the other.

When she was confident that it was in place, she shoved her stool back and grabbed her gloves and reticule.

She felt genuinely giddy to be getting out of the house. As terrified as she was to run into an acquaintance, she woke up that morning feeling a weight had lifted.

She had stopped being concerned about being kept in a sterile house, a lone housekeeper, with a bedeviled, bewhiskered dandy.

Perhaps the happiness she felt was all part of the devil’s manipulation, and her fall was imminent.

A creak broke her train of thought. She threw her gaze at the back of the vast room towards the grand wardrobe and stood as silent as a statue.

Ghosts, she thought.

_Just a ghost in my head. A ghost of an ancestor reminding me that I am being watched and judged._

Her mother had always told her that her Baba Olya was watching over her.

And now Baba Olya was so disgusted and ashamed at her granddaughter’s actions that she was trying to reach out to her from the grave and slap her.

She clenched her fists and blew out her cheeks.

_Damn it all._

She grabbed her prayer beads and held up the cross.

She placed one boot in front of the other, sinking into the padding of the exquisite Persian rug. Then the other. And the other.  Slowly. Cautiously.

She crossed herself in the traditional Russian Orthodox manner. Forehead, heart, right shoulder, left shoulder.

The wardrobe loomed before her, as stoic and still as a statue.

Or a tomb.

Elena held her breath.

She grew closer.

Her heart beat against her chest as she prepared herself for the horror within.

Lifting her other arm, her hand barely made contact with the handle when she threw it open.

_IZYDI, SATANA!” Get behind me, Satan!_

Elena stood looking into the darkness of the wardrobe. Then, noticing the empty hanger and just below the dress that had fallen off its hooks, she realized the source of the sound.

 _It is the asylum for me,_ she thought.

She fought to catch her breath and shut the door.

“Akh glupaya. Ya vedu sebya kak rebenok.” She chuckled under her breath. _Ugh, stupid girl._ _I’m being childish._

“Your coat, my dear.”

Elena cried out and clapped her hands to her mouth.

“Oh my! Did I make the hackles stand up on your neck, girl! Apologies, Miss! I didn’t mean to--”

Elena’s shoulders fell. “Mrs. Manning! You gave me such a start! I thought...I do not know what I thought!”

“‘Tis an old house, Miss. Lots of creaks and crackles! In any case, weather’s a bit fickle out there tonight. Likely to rain, it is. So put on your coat and button up. Best not keep your man waiting.”

“He is not my man, Mrs. Manning.”

Jedediah pulled at the gold chain as the watch slipped out of his waistcoat pocket, and dangled it back and forth, Back and forth. He flicked his wrist and caught the small instrument. He opened it. Half past 7.

He placed a hand on the bannister. “Elena!” He bit out impatiently. “Come on, girl.”

"I am here, Jedediah." Elena stepped down onto the landing at the top of the stairs.

Jedediah watched stupidly as Elena made her way down the steps towards him. 

"Right. I am famished. Shall we?” Jedediah pulled her along.

“I wish you both a fine evenin’, sir.” Mrs. Manning said behind him.

“Thank you, Mrs. Manning,” Jedediah responded. “There will be no cause to wait for our return. You may lock up the doors and head out when it’s time.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Jedediah stood next to the carriage, hand on the door handle, beckoning her to enter a box of mottled darkness.

With one hand he steadied her as she stepped up, first onto a steep metal stair, then into cab. One moment Elena could hear Jedediah murmuring commands to Sergeant Barton, the next the cab tilted ever so slightly as he stooped and climbed into the dark cocoon.

*****

The coal fire snapped and crackled in Linklater’s humble flat near the Limehouse cut. He had an off night and he had hoped to smoke a little opium to ease the pain in his knee, then fall asleep dreaming his opium dreams. But, when when Laura appeared from the water closet, newly bathed and as beautiful as she ever was, short hair and all, his heart skipped a beat.

“Come, sit by the fire, Laura. Warm yerself.”

Laura sat down on a nearby chair and took the bread and warm cider offered to her.

“Thank you, Maurice.”

Maurice had always been sweet on Laura, and while she knew he talked too much at times, the man had always been faithful to her.

He knew her secrets. They both saw what Jedediah did to her Charlie. The truth hung between them like a ghost. A ghost they could both see, but neither wanted to admit.

Tonight she needed Maurice’s hospitality. And his knowledge. And, upon discovering the opium cigarettes in the stolen coat pocket, she knew she would get it from him.

Maurice was loyal, but easily guided with the promise of his favorite vice. It would be his downfall one day, she thought grimly.

Maurice crossed his leg and lit a cigarette. Exhaling a puff of smoke, “‘ow’ja get out, Laura?”

“I bashed a man’s nose in and  walked out the door.”

Maurice stared at her for a moment in disbelief. Then his chest rumbled in a raspy, hoarse laugh. “My word, girl. Always were full of piss and vinegar.”

She met his laughter with a false one. The asylum and its treatments had tortured the mirth out of her. But she knew what she needed to do in order to appear sane and normal to those on the outside. It was a role she needed to play in order to succeed in her goal. Luckily, it was not Jedediah Shine she had to convince. Maurice was gullible. Never could read a woman.

It had been risky, but she had hoped to run into him in the Limehouse market so close to his abode. She was surprised at just how easy it had been.

She had already been to her old house in Limehouse. Found him gone. Found all her things gone. But did find a Hackney address and walked for a whole day in the ill-fitting boots until she spied the monster, from behind an old hedgerow, walking with a damn smile on his face to the awaiting cab. A smile. It was not a smirk. It was a bloody smile.

Getting up and fetching the cigarette from a coat pocket. “For your trouble, Maurice. These are floating around the hospital like candy. It calms the patients, you see. And the doctors. Keeps the hands from trembling when they…” she stopped.

Maurice gazed at the opium cigarette and took it graciously. “Well, look at that.” He could not believe how fortune had found him this night. First Laura. Now this.

She watched and waited for the opium to take the effect on the poor chap. When at last he began to lean his head back and breathe slowly and heavily, she took the chance.

“How is he, Maurice? Is he well?”

“‘E’s the same, I reckon.”

“Is he happy?”

“Yeah, I suppose. Still in charge. Still got his loyal subjects. Making his money. So, yeah, I reckon e’s ‘appy.”

“Does he still live in Limehouse?”

“‘E does. Though, ‘e’s been out in ‘ackney these last several nights.”

And here we go, she thought. “Oh? Why is that?”

“Well, e’s got a bird e’s keepin’. Recent widow of D.I. 'artley.”

Laura thought for a moment. “Mick? Mick Hartley?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. Got the widow, Russian girl, up there. ‘Elping ‘er with ‘er debts and whatnot.”

“Is this Russian girl his sweetheart, Maurice?”

“Don’t know nuffin’ ‘bout sweet’earts, now, Laura. I ain’t seen nuffin’. Ain’t ‘eard nuffin.”

“Oh, I’m sure. What all can you tell me about her, Maurice? How is Jedediah helping her?”

“Laura. Likes I said, I don’t know nuffin ‘bout nuffin.”

She sat back with a sharp exhale. She buried her face in her hands and shook her shoulders. Maurice noticed her crying and sat up. “Now, Laura. You mustn’t. You are tired, girl. Why don’t you get some shut-eye. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

“I just want to know how Jedediah is doing and if he’s moved on. I do hope he has, is all. I have forgiven him for what he did to my Charlie, Maurice. You saw what he did to him. I simply need to know if he has found happiness. Then I can move on.”

Maurice gazed into the fire and hoped to say something, anything, to stop the woman from crying. It was ruining his good feeling, honestly.

“Laura. I don’t know much. But what I do know is that ‘e seems to ‘ave taken an interest in ‘er for some time now. And when she came to ‘im for ‘elp with ‘er dead man’s debts, well, ‘e didn’t need to be asked twice is all I mean. Is ‘e ‘appy wivver? Per’aps. As ‘appy as Jedediah Shine could ever be now, I reckon. I don’t want to ‘urt your feelings none by telling you this. I only wants you to be ‘appy someday too.”

Laura looked up and into the sad eyes of the sergeant. Feigning a smile of relief she sniffed and said, “oh, Maurice. You have no idea how happy you have made me just now.”

Relieved at the cessation of tears, Maurice sat back and took another toke of his cigarette.

“You say this widow--”

“Elena, is ‘er name.”

“You say this Elena is staying at this Hackney residence?”

*****  
  
The cab took followed its route, through back alleys and cobblestone streets, until it could go no further.

The grinding progression of the wheels slowed; the cabin jerkily crawled to a stop.

Elena peered out the window. “Are we here?”

“No. But this is as far as we need to go with a policeman driving. Come.”

Stepping out on the metal stair he leapt down onto the muddy sidewalk. Half-turning left and right, alert, he reached up to help Elena down.

She stared down at his face, watching as light and shadow danced harmoniously across his sullen features.

“Come on, grab my elbow, girl. Stay close and mind your pockets. Barton will be close behind.”

Elena sneaked her hand into Jedediah’s elbow. “As you command,” she said.

“Mind you, ain’t no man or nipper or whore soft enough to try and prig from the pocket of Jedediah Shine,” he said with a chuckle. “Or that of his companion. Nevertheless, we best mind ourselves.”

Elena fell into step next to Jedediah, one gloved hand in the crook of his arm, the other fixed against her abdomen.

The chaos of pedestrians and vehicles made little distinction between street and footpath.

The smell of the river and marine life accosted her.

Over the cacophony of costermongers, shopkeepers, and whores selling their wares, Jedediah talked about Limehouse. How things have improved for the great citizens of this borough since his appointment as head of K Division. He was proud of his work there.

The people of this borough seemed proud of him, too.

Indeed, from underneath the rim of her chapeau, she saw men and women, of all walks of life, profession, and religion, tip their hats and greet the Inspector.

With every step, despite the press of bodies, men and women made way for them, parting like the Red Sea.

She glanced back to notice Sergeant Barton.

Protection. He always had protection.

“Will we see people you know?”

“How do, Mr. Shine!” A man greeted as he walked past.

Shine merely nodded in the man’s direction. “Undoubtedly. Just stay close to me, girl. I’ll guide you.”

“Why do you wish to bring me to a public place in Limehouse? I understand my end of the bargain. I will not run from the house hoping to escape while you are out.”

“Well you know I’d find ya, girl.”

“Of course! I am not naive.”

“You are anything but naive, my dear.”

“No thanks to you.”

“You were never naive. Inexperienced, maybe. But not naive.”

“No more, also no thanks to you.”

*****

Jedediah spotted the entranceway. The curtains of Eve’s Garden hung crimson and lush, located between a sausage shop and a haberdasher’s.

“Inspector, my lover, business or pleasure?” The woman’s voice boomed.

“Commingle the two, might we, Ms. Eve?”

“Why, commingling is what we does best, Inspector. Roll up, roll up, then.”

A bell was rung as the entourage entered, a champagne thrust into Elena’s hand. A few bags of coin thrust into Barton’s.

“Who’s this scrumptious minx, then? She your new sweetheart, Jedediah? I am all a-covetous.”

“Nah, you needn’t ever fear being replaced in my black heart, Eve. Ain’t no one knows how to please a man like you.”

Laughter rippled through the madam, the beads on her elaborately detailed bodice jingling like bells on Christmas Eve.

Elena blushed in the smoky gaslight.

As the two commenced their companionable matchplay, Elena gazed around and saw the place for what it was. A brothel. Indeed, there seemed to be a scantily clad woman for every taste: the young virgin, the Nordic goddess, the Sylph. All draped in diaphanous silks. All gazing at the Inspector and Elena with coy smiles and hope. Ever awaiting the summons to private rooms. All beautiful and healthy-looking. Eve introduced them all- each named after a flower. Hollyhock, Daisy, Rose, Tulip...

“Your room is prepared, Jedediah. Whom do you wish to serve you this night? Tulip? Rosie?”

“Marigold, tonight, Eve.”

Eve gave him a knowing look. “Excellent choice, as usual. Marigold!” A tall, red-headed beauty emerged from behind a crimson curtain. “The Inspector and his lady will need your services this night. See to it that they are relieved and satisfied.”

“At your command, Inspector!” She nodded curtly to Marigold.

“Oysters and lager, Jedediah?”

“I think so, yes. Thank you, Eve,” he called back as they ascended the grand stairs. 

*****

“Elena. Come.” She turned her head to him and opened her mouth like a baby bird. Jedediah tipped the loosned oyster on its shell until the tiny slippery muscle lopped into her welcoming mouth. He watched silently as she brought a delicate finger up to catch a bit of liqour that had dropped onto her chin.

He could tell she was distracted. She had been loquacious on the walk to, but extremely quiet since they had arrived at Eve’s Garden.

He tipped an oyster into his mouth and swallowed thoughtfully. “Gathering wool?” The deep, raspy timbre of his voice breaking into her wandering thoughts.

“Hmmm, yes. I guess I was.”

“Might I ask what about?”

Elena turned to look at him more fully. His visage was serious. Handsome, she thought. Shame she wished to slap it in this moment. “I do not think you want to know what I am thinking.”

He exhaled sharply and said into his pint glass, “Perhaps I do.”

He did want to know what she was thinking. He didn’t understand why, perhaps it was because she had a stoicism to her countenance that inspired madness. It wasn’t really necessary that he know what she was thinking, was it. As much as he wanted to deny it, it wasn’t just the fact that he wished to have a trouble-free evening, but if he could fix what was currently vexing this woman simply for the sake of making her happy then by God he wanted to do it.

He groaned quietly, took the last swallow of his lager, savored the tingling as it slid down his throat.

“How were they?”

“What?”

“The oysters. Eve’s is the best in town.”

“Oysters are oysters. They taste like the water. They are fine.”

He looked down at his hands on the table in front of him and chuckled mirthlessly. “Elena if I have offended--”

“The oysters were fine I said,” she interrupted a bit more harshly than intended, and quickly reminded herself with whom she was, changing her tone to match. “I am quite satisfied, thank you.”

Jedediah shot up from the divan in response. He paced once, twice.

Her heart slammed against her chest as she prepared herself for some kind of punishment.

She watched his back expand and contract as he stood with his hands in pockets in front of the drapes.

“You gonna tell me what it is that is troubling you? Or am I going to have to force it out of you?”

“Under the terms of our agreement you may do what you will to me.” He turned sharply to look at her. She forced her gaze to her hands.

“Indeed. Is that what you want?”

“I want...I want to know why you brought me...here. To a brothel. Do you intend on selling me to that horrible woman downstairs? Wish you to bring me even lower than you already have?”

Her words injured, she knew. She fought back at the side of her that regretted the action.

“Elena, whatever low opinion you have of me, whatever unsavory or below-board activities you think you know of me, I have never and will never traffic women into the prostitution industry. Why do you laugh?”

“I simply wonder why. Are profits down?”

“You can be a right bitch, you know that?”

“So I have been told by many men who feel they have lost an argument with me.”

The two of them stared each other down for a moment before the room echoed with Jedediah’s laughter.

“God bless me! You want to know why I am taking you out?”

“ _Da_.” Yes.

“Because I like you, Elena”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you like me?”

“You want to know why I like you, girl?”

“You like the color of my hair.”

“I do. But I’ve liked the color of many a girl’s hair. I did not take them out.”

“Because you like my eyes.”

“Your eyes are fetching. Many girls have fetching eyes in London, Elena.”

"Ah, I know. You like the fact that I came to you for help. That I offered my body to you because I had no money to give you.”

“You are not the first woman who has given herself to me to erase debts, Elena.”

She swallowed. A feeling rose in her chest that she did not expect. How stupid she was to believe that she was special. Even for a moment. She should have known better.

“Do you want to know why you are here with me now?”

She looked ahead but said nothing.

“Because I know you.”

Elena considered his answer. “No, you don’t know me.” She said pointedly. “You have made me yell out in pleasure. You have brought  me low like animals in forest.  That is not knowing someone. No. You wish to show me off to your people and be envied by other men whose wives are plump with having their children, home and safe. I know how I look. I have not yet had children and so my waist is still small. My face is not tired looking. I don’t look like those wives. You are proud of that. That is why. You are vain and selfish. You--”

He laughed at her sudden fury, interrupting her train of thought. “Oh? You laugh! Are you married, Mr. Shine? Hm? Where is your wife? Is she home with several small children believing her husband to be out protecting the good citizens of this dirty city from crime? Does she know what you do with me every night? Would she approve of what we do together? Approve her husband is referred to as “my lover” by the madam of this brothel?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“And why is that?”

“Because she is dead,” Jedediah said the words so calmly that Elena thought she had misheard him. “And when she was alive, she neither loved me nor respected the vows we took before the magistrate.”

Elena’s heart stopped as silence fell in the room. Somewhere a piano played. A woman cackled.

“Forgive me. I did not know.”

“It is in the past. I do not wish to relive it.”

“I understand.”

“Do you?”

“You know I do.”

“Yes. I have a theory. A theory that involves the fact that we have more similarities than differences, you and I. No matter how much you would love to hate me for bringing you low, you have enjoyed the dark pleasures with the likes of me. You have enjoyed every penetrating bit of this here arrangement.”

Elena glowered at the absurdity of such a notion.

“You can deny it all you want, but you seek honesty in a world of lies, do you not? Your marriage was false. The smiles you gave your husband’s friends were false. Tell me, what is false when you’re with me? Hmm? Is it the way we hold each other after we shake with ecstasy? Is it the light in your eyes when I walk into the room? The darkness when I leave it? The way I cannot stop…” Jedediah’s voice faltered suddenly. He refused to continue that train of thought. “It is the way you feel free with me?”

“I am not free when I am with you! I am not free at all!” she cried.

“You are free from your old life and all its ugliness and loneliness when you are with me!” His tone matched hers. “Is it not what you need! Is it not what I need?"

“Oh Jedediah!” She walked over to the door, stopping as she placed her hand on the knob. Her other hand she placed on the door and leaned her forehead against it. She heard him come up behind her. "I know nothing of your needs."

“I beg to differ, Elena." She flinched when his hand settled on her shoulder. "But I will help you see clear. Will you allow me to show you more? More of what I am? Of what I need?”

“Jedediah, sometimes you frighten me.”

“I know.”

“When we are done I will go back to my old life. But I will be different. I will never be able to return to my old self."

"Is that what you want? To go back to your old self?"

"My conscious does not approve of what we do.”

“But your heart does, Elena. You won’t be banished out of Paradise, girl. That life you had- it weren’t nothing like Paradise. You will not be alone with me. Not like you were. Not like I was.”

She turned in his arms and relished in the mix of cologne and musk on his clothes. The coolness of his silk waistcoat.

He cupped her face and pulled her apart from him enough to look into her eyes. “They say the eyes are the windows to the soul.”

She brought her hands up to his when all humor left his face.

“When you look at me, you make me feel…”

“Feel like?” she prodded. Tears pooled in her eyes.

“Like you might be able to spy the semblance of one.” His eyes, dewy with emotion, gazed at her mouth as though searching for words she could not find.

Tears fell instead.

Rough knuckles grazed against her cheeks, smoothing the tears away.

“Elena.”

“Yes?” She said, sniffling.

“Trust is very important to me. You want to know why I like you? Why I brought you here with me? Because I feel I can trust you with a secret, a need, I have neither shown nor shared with anyone- including my wife. My trust in someone is the greatest gift I can give to someone. And I give it to you. Do you understand?”

Elena nodded, though she was not sure she fully understood. “What is this secret, Jedediah?”

Jedediah never broke eye contact with her while, as if on cue, Marigold quietly entered the room.

Elena turned her head to gaze upon the tall, red-headed beauty, draped in the compulsory diaphanous silks that was the standard for all women of the brothel.

"You say you don't have an inclination of what it is I need. But you do. You saw it the night I chased you up the stairs. When you raged against me. You spied it then. I know you did."

Her gaze fell to the woman’s hands and Elena felt as though her knees might buckle.


	13. Chapter 13

Marigold held in her hands a rod of rattan, the handle an elaborate silver filigree.

A rattan cane.

A cane used for torture, for beating prisoners of war, for beating animals. Fire surged through her veins as her mind came to understand his secret. Jedediah Shine was a sadist.

“No.” Elena bit out. “Let me go!”

“Elena--” His grasp on her cheeks tightened ever so slightly.

“NO! I will not allow--”

“It is not for you.”

“--you to...what?” Her gaze flew to Marigold. “Then who?”

Jedediah stepped back from her slowly and turned, pulled off his tie. Waistcoat. Pulled down his suspenders. “It is for me.”

“Pardon me, Miss.” Elena jumped as Marigold brushed past her and walked towards Jedediah.

She reached behind an elaborate drape and pulled on a braided rope. Opening, Elena could see a padded bench. It was like a pommel horse, only smaller- and with iron rings set into its wooden legs.

On the wall hung a variety of leather straps, whips and riding crops. Other rattan canes were displayed in a curio cabinet in the corner, but none so elaborate as the one with which Marigold entered the room.

He stood next to the bench, barechested, his trousers unbuttoned, hanging low on his hips. Elena stared at him like a woman staring at a hypnotist’s swaying clock.

“Elena,” Jedediah said beseechingly, “I only want you to see what it is I need. I do not wish to frighten you.”

Elena jutted out her chin in defiance. “I am not scared.”

It was a lie. He knew it, but he allowed it.

“Best out of five again, Mr. Shine?”

“Yes, I think that will do, Marigold.”

He bent over the bench, exposing his back to Marigold freely.

He did not need to be shackled. He simply held onto wooden handles next to the iron rings.

 _He did not need to be shackled because he wants to be there_ , Elena thought to herself.

Marigold circled Jedediah’s taut body with predatory intent. She stepped back, lined up the cane against his bare back, and swung.

The cut of the cane sang in the silent room. More so, the thwack it made when it landed. Jedediah sucked in air through clenched teeth. He breathed out, “One.” She swung again. “Two,” he managed.

The cane’s imprints began to bloom pink on his naked back.

Elena heard Jedediah’s exhalations. He needed physical pain. She remembered it. The night she thought he was attacking her. Each time she slapped him he reared back, the feral look of desire in his eyes. The fire that surged in her then. He wanted _her_ to inflict pain on him. And she wanted to wield that power over him. She wanted to give him this pleasure. This pain.

Jedediah was beautiful in his this pose, his half-nakedness, his vulnerability, his submission. Elena felt something stir in her, a hunger arising.

Marigold held the cane up again.

“No.” Elena heard herself command. “I will do it. Show me how and I will do it.”

“Do as she says,” came Jedediah’s rough voice came quickly. Almost too quickly. As if he had been waiting for that moment.

Marigold smiled. “As you wish, sir. Come, Ms. Hartley. I will show you how.”

Elena held the cane up as Marigold stood behind her, glued to the back of her body. A woman’s arm snaked around her torso and grasped her close. The other hand teased down Elena’s right arm, coming to her hand that gripped the handle tightly and  lifting it slowly.

“You must pick where you want to make your mark,” her voice was calm and collected in her ear. “You must be careful with your stroke - neither too soft, nor too hard. With a smooth swing or your arm, make the cane an extension of yourself, bring it down upon your target. At the end of the stroke, let off, so that the cane whips around and lands square.

Do not hold back, miss. He yearns to feel the full majesty of the cane as it breaks his flesh."

Elena reared back and with all her strength, she swung. Jedediah tensed as the cane cut the air with a whistle and landed with a smart crack.

Three. 

Four. 

Five. He cried out this time. His body shuddered forward but he did not fall. 

Elena stood back, trying to catch her breath. Jedediah breathed deeply and stiffly moved off the bench, grimacing as he knelt on the rug. He fell forward on his hands, clenching his eyes shut as he returned to his body fully.

Elena had felt the crushing weight of power and now she felt an overwhelming desire to nurture. 

She dropped the cane and knelt beside him. Droplets of sweat hung from his nose, his chin, saturated the curls against his ears, along his neck.

He collapsed in her arms then, sending her down on her bustle. He grabbed her skirts as though they were life, laying the full weight of his head on her lap. 

He struggled to pull himself up. In doing so he pushed her down on her back. Then he was on top of her, driving into her. His engorged cock, freed and weeping with selfish need, penetrated the molten heat of her nurturing flesh over and over until Jedediah's body gave its final shudder as the sweat stung the raw wounds of his back.

 


	14. Chapter 14

Elena dipped her face into the crook of his neck, drowning in the scent and taste of his sweat. She felt awash with sensation as she heard him panting, struggling to place the weight of his upper body on his elbows.

The intensity of his gaze met hers. His lips parted on the silent syllables of her name, nibbling on her bottom lip. Her lips parted on his silent command. She moaned.

He returned the noise, his exhale her breath.

“Ty moi,” she whispered dreamily into the corner of his mouth. His eyes dropped to her swollen lips, wanting to read what she said. She thrust her fingers through moistened curls and cupped the back of his head. “You are mine,” she breathed.

“I am yours,” he half whispers, lips brush against lips.

“Ya tvoy- say this, Jedediah. Say this to me.”

“Ya tvoy," he whispers.

She closed her eyes and pulled is head down. Her legs wrapped around his waist, intent on keeping him close. Closer. Close enough to drive him mad. His spent cock remained inside her. She could feel the evidence of his orgasm already beginning to lubricate their conjoined bodies. Distantly, she considered the fact that he had come inside her without protection, but she could not bring herself to act upon the concern.

“Ah!” he winced as his skin stretched and pulled where Elena had struck him and broken the skin. “Jesus God.”

Elena’s equilibrium danced in her mind for a moment as the room, the real world, came back in phases.

The white enameled ceiling.

The muffled sounds of masculine voices, feminine laughter from the room directly below her.

The smell of his unwashed hair, musky and sweet.

The heat of his breath as it brushed her collarbones in huffs.

The ache in her hips and ribs.

The sudden physical void Jedediah created as he struggled to disengage from her and catch his breath.

Groaning, he nestled his body next to hers, draping a heavy arm over her chest.

Immediately she felt as though she was losing bodily control.

She closed her legs and pulled down her skirt to stop the sensation.

The evidence of Jedediah’s climax seeped out.

Elena took a breath and let it out slowly, ignoring her sensitive ribs as she tilted her chin into his hair.

Jedediah let out a long sigh and buried his face into her neck, luxuriating in her softness, in her heat.

A thick hand stroked her shoulder, her rounded bosom contained within the busque she still wore.

He inhaled a raspy breath. “Marigold, I thank you for your services this night, but the lady and I won’t be requiring your services no more.”

“Yes, Mr. Shine,” Marigold said obediently, the relief in her voice only slightly hidden.

*****

The door to the bathroom opened and closed with a soft click. Elena emerged refreshed, and now only in her thigh-length camisole.

He drank in her body then stepped in front of the fireplace and hunkered down. For a moment he stared at the waning coal fire. He grabbed a black-iron shovel from the poker stand and pushed aside the scuttle. Leaning over, he grabbed a piece of coal from the coal bucket- two pieces, three. A few sticks of kindling. His bare skin stretched, revealing the corded play of muscle and sinew.

She walked softly towards him. He felt her gaze upon him like a caress.

Five dark stripes were visible along his bare back, one or two arrowing up at an angle to his Chinese tattoo. Two of them were dotted with deep purple spots where the skin had torn.  

He rose and reached inside an urn on top of the mantel. Squatting back down, his knees yawned widely, bones popping as he did so.

A match ignited; sulfur fumes entered Elena’s nostrils. A tiny yellow flame nibbled at the kindling, then blue, soon spreading a gloriously vermilion flame around the coals.

Smoldering coal gently snapped and popped. Like bones.

Jedediah stepped back from the flames and lowered himself to sit on his buttocks. He crossed his legs, his feet tucked under opposite knees. A shirtless nomad in meditation. His broad shoulders bunched forward as his elbows rested on his knees. Hands dangling, veins bulging along his wrists and forearms like the roots of an English Oak tree.

Unruly curls glistened in the glow of the fire, lazily caressing the back curve of his long neck.

“Elena, if you would be so kind as to bring me a whisky, please,” he grunted. “On second thought, you best bring the bottle, girl."

Jedediah leaned back on his side, propped on one elbow, legs crossed at the ankles. He was warming his feet.

Elena squatted down next to him, shuddering as the heat of the coal fire caressed her bare shoulders.

Jedediah noticed and demanded she drape his shirt over her shoulders. She refused.

“I like being free.”

He brought the glass to his mouth, swallowed some of the amber liquid. “You will be in a few days.” 

Elena nodded.

“Is that what you want?” He asked pointedly.

She stole a sip of his straight whisky and swallowed, the fiery warmth scorching the back of her throat. “I have always been free in my mind. Just not in body.”

He stared at her impassively.

“Did Mick not allow you your freedom?”

She clucked her tongue. “Mick was typical husband. He could do with me what he wanted. He could have had me locked up in cage if he felt like it.”

Jedediah turned the half-full tumbler of scotch in his hands. Yes, he knew exactly how easy it was _._  “Did he hurt you?”

“Mick tried very hard to hurt me. But he married the wrong woman.”

He laughed silently at the quick flash of teeth she snarled at him.  “How did you two meet?”

“Somehow my father met him when he worked in London. I was back in Russia with my mother and brothers. I was a dancer, you know. I was student at the Vaganova Academy, appointed to dance for the Imperial Ballet at the Mariinsky Theatre. Very prestigious. I loved dancing all my life. But it was not meant to be. My mother received letter from my father. He said I was to travel to London by train. He said I would have much better life here. That a man wished to marry me after seeing my picture. ”

“Only a picture?”

“What? You laugh? I make good pictures!”

Of this he had no doubt.

“I am sure that my father owed Mick something. Money- anything. I was probably the deal that they agreed upon. I screamed, I told my mother my destiny was to be a dancer. They don't just pick anyone to attend Vaganova, do you understand? It was not to be bored wife having tons of fat English babies living in dirty London. But there was nothing to be done. In my country, when the father says so, you must do so. So, I came to London. I sat in restaurant in hotel and met Mick for the first time. We were married in three days time.”

“Did Mick not allow you to continue to dance here in London?”

Her face shifted in the shadows thrown by the fire, but he did not need to see her eyes to know the answer. “It is not done, he would say. He felt it was a shame on his name for his wife to be on the stage. He said that mostly whores were on stage.”

“He was a fool,” Jedediah said into his glass. “Had I married ya, I would have seen to it that you were twirling in front of the right people before you adjusted to London time.”

“Oh? Is that right? Jedediah Shine. Husband, Manager, Detective Inspector...what other part would you have played?”

He tipped the glass to his lips and winked. “Bookkeeper.”

Elena threw her head back and laughed. “Ah yes! Of course! Penny counter! Very important!”

“The most important!” He agreed passionately.

"Mick should have had you as his bookkeeper."

"Ah, but then we wouldn't be here now sharing this drink."

"Da." _Yes._

“Ten years married and you bore him no children?”

She leaned back on one hand, her eyes on her other hand as it laid on her belly. “I was pregnant once. After our first night together. It was our last night together. I found Russian woman in Spitalfields. She helped me.”

“Mick know you did that?”

“No. He believed I had er...miscarriage. But when I threatened to cut off his balls if he tried to enter my room,” she exhaled sharply, “he did not try to have another baby with me after.”

Jedediah grinned widely. “I should hope not."

“Let us stop talking about a dead man," she suggested breathily, but without any heat.

“Elena, you are quite a woman, you know that? I don’t believe I’ve ever met another member of your sex with such spirit.”

She smiled. “Well, I am Russian. I could read newspaper and sound spirited. Many English people thought I was rude at first. They didn't understand my accent. I am spirited. And sometimes I am very angry. At many things. But, Jedediah, anger is great motivator, is it not?”

To that he held up his glass.

“Vyp'yem,” she said as she brought hers to his with a clink. “Now, what about you, Jedediah. I must know why you do this with this cane.”

He gave a small shrug. “Who’s to say why anyone does what he does? I just know I enjoy it. I need it.”

“But how were you introduced to this?”

He took a sip of whisky. “Let us say that yours was not the only father who ruled with an iron fist. Mine had a liking for the feel of bone crushing beneath his fist and the leather strap. I was no stranger to punishment. My pappy always said I had the devil in me and then tried to beat it out. It didn’t work."

Elena nodded in understanding. “Yes.”

“Later, when I was a young policeman in Hong Kong my mates took me to a brothel that specialized in this type of brutality. As you can imagine, we Englishman were gobsmacked by this exotic foray into the world of fetish. And completely smitten. Amazing what men can get their rocks off to.”

“Do you enjoy...giving pain as well as feeling it?” She hoped the answer was no.

“Dear old pappy gave me his name and a strong Irish fist, but when I’m with you or...any woman, I want us both to enjoy it. I have used tactics to intimidate in order to gain intelligence, but I don’t get off making a woman scream out in pain.”

Killing, however, was a different story and he knew it. He had always known it. 

"Did you like it? Wielding the cane?” He asked into his glass.

“I did."

"How did it make you feel?"

"Powerful. And hungry."

"For?"

"You." 

The answer shot straight to his groin.

"When it was over, after I had caused you pain, I wanted nothing more than to give you comfort. My womb cried in yearning. I wanted to feed you from my bosom, welcome your cock into my warmth, lick your wounds with my tongue.

"Nothing else mattered.

“Jedediah,” her tone suddenly solemn, “my husband did not teach me to be a woman. He did not teach me what to ask for. What to know to ask for. He did not teach me that to want, to desire, was natural and good, when it is between two people who want the same thing from each other.”

She ran a hand over his bare shoulder, a sharp collarbone, sinewy muscle that flexed underneath the taut skin.

“You. Someone more savage beast than man sometimes, you taught me these things. You have educated me and made me woman.”

“And it did not take long.”

She laughed, a beautiful, welcome laugh to Jedediah’s ears. She shifted closer to him. “No, because it is difficult to say no to the devil’s temptations.” An elegant hand slid underneath his, palm against palm. She lifted it. He felt her soft lips brushing against the rough skin on his knuckles.

"Perhaps, Jedediah, it did not take long because we are not so different."

“Elena,” his voice became serious “after, when we had finished, you said I was yours.”

“Yes,” she said huskily, not looking at him, mouth trailing along the top of his hand in adoration.

“When I said it back to you, I meant it. You know that, don’t you?”

She nodded.

"Do you understand what all this hand can do, Elena?"

"Mmmm," she hummed into his skin. "You have demonstrated many wonderful things, Jedediah."

“Hear me, Elena. This hand which you now caress,” he said, "which has brought you pleasure...has brought others much pain. The other likewise. They have...injured many bodies.”

She nodded again.

“They have blackened many souls.”

She cocked her head.

“They have stolen lives.”

He felt the genesis of a tremor inside her. He thought he could hear her heart beating.

“Stolen?”

“Yes.”

In the firelight he could see a puzzled expression dance across her brow. He watched as her mind turned the phrase over.

Stolen lives.

Taken lives.

Killed.

“But as a policeman,” she offered, “you must defend yourself. Of course the opportunity to kill is there.”

“No, Elena. Not always in defense of myself.”

He saw the realization come over her like a wave.

“I see,” she said . He did not grip her hand tightly. He wanted her to feel free to pull away if that was what she needed.

She placed his hand back on the rug.

As her hand smoothed out from under his, he felt awash with self-doubt for having said so much to her.

Elena was probably considering all the ways she might escape the room, the brothel, Limehouse, London.

Her gut instinct was most likely screaming to make a dash for it.

She should run.

And he would normally have threatened her with the terms of their agreement to manipulate her into staying put. Perhaps he still would.

Habit forced the words to the tip of his tongue in calculated preparation, yet that’s what they were: only words. As he stared at her, he felt a sudden inability to formulate these words into any sort of offensive strategy. There was no might in his bite. Actually, there was no bite at all.

He knew what life with him might bring upon her. Namely nothing remotely traditional. An abundance of uncertainty. Needs must when the devil drives and all that. However, perhaps most spectacularly disappointing to an unmarried woman, he could not give her his name. 

No. Impossible. 

He braced himself for her exit. Her exit from this room. From his life. 

But that did not happen.

Instead, she shifted closer to him and pulled her shift over her head.

Jedediah’s breath hitched as the fire cast its glow upon the roundness of her breasts, the cinch of her waist, the softness of her thighs.

The scent of her arousal.

She sat on her knees before him and placed his hand on her heart.

“Touch me here,” she ordered. “Not with this hand that has destroyed, or blackened, or murdered...but with this hand that has given life to me. That has protected me. That has brought pleasure to me. Touch me here, Jedediah.”

He stared up at her with a mystified expression. 

“Ya tvoy, Elena.” His voice cracked on the last word.

She nodded in approval. “Ya tvoya, Jedediah.”


	15. Chapter 15

Elena clambered on top of Jedediah, now sprawled on his back against the bed pillows and settled on his stomach.  Her eyes bore into his, her desire reflected in his own. She admired the shape of him. The broad shoulders and chest. Muscular as a stallion. Lethal as a lion.

He groaned.

She flattened his hands against the bed clasped in her own.

Her lips brushed his.

His body shuddered as she pinched a nipple. She smiled coyly at his reaction as she teased him. His laughter puffed at her lips as she trailed a fingernail down his sensitive ribcage.

His hands moved to her knees, up her thighs, around the roundness of her bottom until his fingers found her.

She gasped.

His hands grabbed hold of her cheeks to position her, but she stopped him.

A grunt of dissatisfaction flew out of him involuntarily.  

She smiled down at him. “Not yet. Not until I say.”

He sighed.

She climbed higher on his body.

His eyes burned as he watched her fingers seek her own arousal. He tilted his head on the pillow and saw as she the parted her lips, expose the sensitive nub, circle it... then his breath caught.

Muscles tensed under her other hand. She could sense the strain of his holding back from the line across his brow, the heaving of his chest, the tightened grasp of his hands on her.

He rutted his pelvis underneath her.

“Taste me,” she cooed, as she brought the very hand to his lips.

He opened his mouth and latched on, laving and swallowing her juices. His tongue working her hand like a hungry dog until at last her taste had disappeared. Salty and sweet, she was. But it was not enough.

“More,” he rasped and reflexively rolled his hips upward.

The coal fire popped and crackled to the left of the bed. The fire was nothing to her wet heat he felt on his stomach.

She shifted and crawled higher. Her knees slid over bare shoulders.

Jedediah was ready and waiting to do as he is bid.

She grabbed onto the brass headboard; she swooned at the sensation of his hot tongue as it licked, laved, penetrated.

Her stuttered rocking became more and more debauched as the sounds escaped her throat.

She ground into him.

He worshiped this delicate flesh, this velvet silk of hers that he adored, that he would protect, that he would kill for.

He ignored his inability to breathe as he heard the sounds coming out of her throat. He moaned as he imagined the picture they made. His testicles thrust up into his groin in response. He rutted the air again and wondered if he would actually come like this. Like a teenage boy spending in his own trousers at the mere sight of a woman’s carnal secret.

With relief he felt her begin to tremble. Felt her powerful thighs grip his head in a vise.

She shut her eyes and cried out her ecstasy, not caring if anyone heard her. Her back arched back almost demonically, and when the long tendrils of her hair brushed his poor, neglected and engorged cock he shuddered as he came unbidden, moaning but refusing to neglect her order.

Her orgasm came like a locomotive. Her body shuddered. She cried his name.

He slowed his movements against the sensitive flesh as he remember her breath.

He thrust his tongue one, two, three more times... wrenching the final, slowing shudders, the one last glorious gasp from her.

They said nothing for a moment.

Then, legs trembling, she moved off of him.

She gathered her hair around her neck and bent to kiss his softened cock. His lids heavy as he tilted his head to watch her kiss him, but then widen as the warmth of her tongue moves to lave away his own mess. When her work was complete, Elena shifted to lay next to him, draping her arm and her hair over his chest.  

He reached down and covered their bodies with the bedcovers.

They breathed slowly together.

He closed his eyes and held her fast, but he was not sleeping.

The coal fire waned.

Somewhere a door slammed. A woman’s cackle.

Outside, a rainshower whirred.

The bedsprings squealed as Jedediah shifted his body to his side. He turned her around and pulled her back to him until she lay like a tiny spoon against his body. A very well protected spoon with a muscular cage around it.

She would never feel unsafe with him close, she knew this.

He mused that her rump fit spectacularly well in the bend of his hips.

When she felt him rut up against her, she knew it was not yet time for sleep.


	16. Chapter 16

With a great snort, Maurice Linklater jerked awake in the chair in front of a dead coal fire. His mouth was as dry as a desert. His tongue as thick as a pillow. With the back of his hand he wiped the cold spittle from his chin and checked his trousers. Like a newborn colt, he came to standing on shaky knees, inhaling and exhaling deeply.

Unbuttoning his trousers as he entered his toilet room, he leaned on one hand over the commode. He rubbed his nose on the shirtsleeve of the outstretched hand and inhaled sharply.

He tugged on the handle and listened to the water gurgle down into the great unknown.

Then he remembered. Laura. She had escaped the asylum. Linklater had found her, starving, cold, needing shelter. He had always had a soft spot for the girl; been warned it could be his undoing one day.

“Fuck me,” he cursed himself. “Laura?” He called out. “You ‘ere?”

Silence.

“Laura?” He called again.

He grabbed his coat and reached for his wallet. It was empty. It had not been empty this night past.

“Fuck me,” he repeated. The bitch had brought the dragon to him in those opium cigarettes, waited for him to pass out and then robbed him.

Not just any bitch. Jedediah Shine’s bitch.

Oh God, how much did he divulge to her? He needed to go find the inspector and inform him.

Inform him of what? That Laura had escaped the asylum and had been given shelter by one of his own men? Not only that, but now she knew where he resided outside of Limehouse and with whom?

Oh God. What had he done? Surely, Jedediah would accept that Linklater had been under duress. Drugged. Not in his right mind. Linklater had always been his loyal soldier. He would not seek retribution against his loyal Sergeant.

Surely.

Linklater wiped the sweat from his brow and pulled on his coat, tripping over himself as he fell out into the foggy dawn.

He would seek out his master. He would explain. He would fix this. And all would be well.

*****

With a crash of a vase and a grunt, Jedediah bounced Elena off his pelvis as she contracted around him, throwing her head back against the wall and crying out her finish. Jedediah’s knees trembled as he held her in place, wheezing slightly as he buried his face into the bend of her neck and shoulder.

Elena slowly came to, watching the dying glow of the coal fire that had at one time raged in the night.

He felt her smile against his temple and instinctively met her lips with his.

The drapes had begun to show a periwinkle outline; dawn approached.

His lips parted as though he would speak when a fierce knock came.

With a sigh he lowered Elena to the ground. She quickly grabbed her shift and corset and ran to the bathroom.

“What.” Jedediah asked through the door.

“Sir! Sir! I must speak with you.”

“Is there a fire?”

“Fire, sir? Erm, no sir.”

Slowly opening the door, “Then tell me, Barton. If there is no fire, what is so fucking critical that you feel you must interrupt my evening?”

“A note, sir. From the Lark House Asylum.”

Elena, quietly dressed in the bathroom, ears pricked from behind the door.

With a great masculine grunt he crumbled the small piece of paper in his fist and tossed it into the dying fire.

Elena heard Shine pulling on his clothes silently, but with great speed. When at last he spoke, his voice seemed harried. Concerned.

“Where is Linklater?”

“At home, I reckon, sir. Tonight was his night off.”

“Send someone to fetch him. Have him come to the station. I want to know if he has seen her.”

Both men turned to Elena, who stood at the bathroom door fully dressed.

“My dear,” Shine addressed her, “I’m afraid we must go. Quickly. Policing matters.”

“Of course,” Elena nodded.

*****

“Is everything alright?” She asked him as he practically hurled her up into the cab.

“All’s well, my dear. Something has come up is all.” He slammed the door of the cab shut and placed his hand on the edge.

“Deliver Ms. Hartley back to Hackney. And stay with her. Lock all the doors.” Shine ordered a Constable. “Elena,” his tone becoming calm, contained, “I will make this up to you. When you get back to Hackney Mrs. Manning will have left for the night. Constable John will be with you. Keep the doors locked, yeah? And do not open the doors if someone knocks and you do not recognize them. Are we understood?”

She leaned forward and placed her hand on his. “Lyubov' moya, _my love_ , what is happening?”

“Be a good girl and do as I say.” She conceded with a nod and sat back in the cab. With a slap on the wooden door the cab lurched back a few inches before it began it journey forwards to Hackney, horse hooves a muffled clop.

Shine watched as the cab disappeared into the early morning fog. He did not know what "lyubov' moya" meant, but he could guess based on the look in her eyes. The revelation made him grit his teeth in self doubt. Perhaps he should have kept her with him. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he strode forward on the wet street, convincing himself that in an hour Elena would be safe inside the Hackney house, a great distance from any ugliness that may need to occur. Yes, it was best that he sent her back to Hackney. He would find Laura, deliver her and her secrets back to the asylum, and be back in Elena’s arms by afternoon tea.  

“Sir,” the Barton’s voice came from behind. “We’re to the station. Men from the asylum await you.”

*****

Elena alighted the cab and hopped down on the moistened sidewalk. She stood and turned to the Constable, who had hopped down and met her there.

“Come, miss. I’ll see you to the door. Once inside, lock the door. I’ll be waiting here by the horse if you need anything.”

Elena nodded. The house was dark and cold. She pulled the hatpin from her chapeau and laid the items on a side table in the main drawing room.

Elena bent down and lit the coals, poking at the pile to instigate the heat. The percussive sound of the crackling fire was a welcome one, and soon her bones felt the comfortable warmth the house was lacking.

She closed her eyes and told herself to be calm, but something about Jedediah’s expression scarred any chance of lucidity. She wondered where he was, what he was doing now. A knot formed in her stomach. A vague fear lingered in her periphery. The fear seemed to shift like a mass of black fog.

The hair on the back of her neck stood on end.

Then the black mass spoke.

“Please do not make a sound.”

Elena froze. Slowly, she turned towards the shadow and saw a face emerge in the golden light. Elena’s eyes widened. Her lips parted in shock.

“You must be Elena.”


	17. Chapter 17

Jedediah swanned into his office in Limehouse station, threw his coat onto the coat rack and sat down heavily at his desk. He was dressed as a man who had not expected to have to be where he was. Dressed in the clothes he wore the day before, his cravat undone, waistcoat half-buttoned, collar intact, but not pulled tight.

He ran a hand through his hair and pulled each end of his whiskers, hoping to use whatever natural oil he had on his scalp to tame them.

A sharp exhale escaped. Mere hours ago he had thought himself the most fortunate of men. He was fortunate. He had the favor of his superiors, the respect and fear of his subordinates and civilians alike, an abundance of coin, perhaps not all earned above board, and a celebrated reputation as a fighter. All this and not yet forty. What more could a man ask for in this life?

He stood and glanced out his office window at the muddy street and the life that congregated there.

_Everything. And more besides._

Elena had at one time been just another treasure he coveted. Since the moment he saw her twirling about in that ballroom he knew he had to have her. And when he wanted something it was only a matter of time before he would have it.

He had never heard her voice. When he did, it was richer than he imagined. More matter of fact in its intonation. Stronger with accent, as though for all these years she had resided in a Russian bubble. Indeed, many foreigners sought the quarters dominated by the customs and language of their homeland. Her husband should have guided her in her assimilation. Instead she had no cause to embrace her adopted culture. He saw no fault in this, frankly. His sensibilities had become less and less syncopated with London the older he got.

He tightened his collar and fixed his puff tie, realizing that in his haste he had left his tie pin at the brothel. No matter, he would tuck the tie into the waistcoat as he finished buttoning it. For some reason he didn’t bloody care at the moment. Habit forced him through these machinations. Nothing more.

When he saw Elena, she always had a bit of sadness in her visage - but not in such a way as to beg for one’s charity or sympathy. Rather, a flatness as though she had accepted a certain fact about life: that perhaps this is as good as it will ever be and she had resigned to face each day no matter what. The universe could not break her. But laughter and joy were expenses she was not accustomed to spending freely, like many English girls, who perhaps spent them too liberally. They were not fripperies to a woman like her.

She was strong. Strong in form and strong at heart. Proud and noble. Intelligent like a man. She knew not to trust anyone right away. Indeed, one earned the trust of a woman like Elena. One earned just about everything you got from her. It made the smiles she rewarded him all the more precious. All the more gratifying. His ego all the more inflated with each kiss, each gentle touch, each unwasted smile.

He had seen her flush with passion as she twirled in that empty ballroom those years ago. He had almost been jealous of the art's ability to make such a stoic woman feel something. In the last few days he had made her feel all manner of things. Anger, passion, fear, love, happiness.

She had made him work like the devil to be rewarded with such feeling. Jedediah smiled to himself.

And the more she gave him, the more he wanted. 

Reserved for no one but him.

She accepted him. Understood what and who he is.

She desired him. Felt her hands on him in the middle of the night. Searching for his heat, searching for fulfillment, silently yearning for his touch.

Jedediah closed his eyes and sighed an exhausted sigh.

Yes, he once felt fortunate. What he felt now was enlightened. Enlightened at how empty he would feel should he lose it.

He had wanted nothing more than to get back to the house with Elena and fall into bed next to her soft, naked body. Her hair draped over his chest like silk. Her lips full, swollen and luscious on his. Their fingers entwined. And then they would fucking sleep. Sleep like the dead.

Jedediah swore under his breath.

Elena must never discover the truth.

The truth being Mrs. Laura Shine, who he committed to the Lark House Asylum five years past, was currently not in the custody of said asylum,  and was now on the loose somewhere on these streets.

 _Where might you be, Laura?_   

 “Your coffee, sir,” the young desk sergeant bent over the large mahogany desk and carefully placed the cup down on the weathered wood.

The bedraggled inspector did not look up. “Thank you, constable.”

“Yes, sir.” The young man exchanged a glance with Sergeant Barton, who came toward the desk.

“Inspector, the men are here and ready to speak with you. Shall I show them in?”

“Yes. Erm, Barton? Has Linklater shown for his duties yet?”

“No, sir. Not as of yet. He is scheduled to arrive in half an hour.”

“Right. I would speak with him when he arrives.”

“Of course, sir.”

Shine shut his eyes and exhaled fully. _Time for the show to begin._

*****

Dr. Karl Crabbe, the noted and progressive psychiatrist of The Lark House Asylum, adjusted his wire-rimmed spectacles and cleared his throat.

His carriage had arrived at his destination containing himself, the director of the institution, a constable, and the warden, with whom the patient had scuffled before she escaped. It was a claustrophobic journey, furthered by the sickening knowledge that he would have to speak with Jedediah Shine.

He had long believed himself to be an excellent reader of people. That is to say, one could attempt to lie to the good doctor, but one’s attempt would ultimately prove fruitless. He knew the tics, the change in pulse, the microscopic beads of sweat that began to form on one’s upper lip...he knew when a patient was keen enough to say the right thing in order to be released from his care. Likewise he knew when a patient feigned catatonic episodes so as to remain silent.

But he could not read a single thing from the man before him. His face was a carved mask, revealing nothing.

Jedediah was to him an enigma, one he had spent a great deal of time contemplating after spending so many hours with Laura Shine. She described a man who was lethally efficient, mindful of his rank, often cantankerous. Arrogant, unreasonable most of the time. 

He was a bit old-fashioned in his policing style. Authoritarian, as his training came mostly from Bow Street Runner veterans. Privately, he had little respect for the modern detective branch he was part of; felt that too many inspectors now spent too much time searching and not enough time questioning miscreants.

Justice must be hard and immediate; jail cells should be full to set an example to the public, to strike fear in their hearts and thus deter the criminal mentality. 

Despite his enforcement leanings he never raised a hand to Laura. This struck Crabbe as odd, considering how vilified the man was in her fragile, yet observant mind.

Her husband came from Irish blood and had worked his way up from the London slums, a damn near Herculean task in these times. He had learned to read and write via a local vicar, who taught the poor children of the quarter on Sundays after service. He worked for a local butcher, who was actually a horrible man with a lot of money and influence. That man, who Laura would not name, saw in the boy physical talent as well as ambition. The butcher recruited Jedediah to help him keep his properties and people who owed him in line. By any means necessary. In return, the man would pay well and help Jedediah rise above his natural station. And this he did.

And does he still have associations with this “butcher?” Crabbe asked her. Oh yes, he remembered she replied without hesitation. And does he still help this man keep his people in line? Yes, she answered. And did he ever share with you the means by which he kept these people in line? Laura stared at him impassively for a long moment. 

And then the words came. 

The atrocities she revealed to him...the tale of a man so contradictory to the reputation of the inspector of Limehouse who had spent the last few years enjoying accolades, honors, and the respect of his peers - suffice it to say Laura had taken a bucket of black tar and thrown it against the masterpiece that her husband had created for himself.

The air in the office thickened as the inspector released a flourish of vulgarity regarding the asylum’s obvious, as Shine put it, incompetence.

A man of Crabbe’s breeding was not accustomed to hearing such a colorful array of curses and oaths coming from anyone. But these lyrical offenses flew out from the formidable individual behind the desk who, upon further observation, appeared as though he had slept in the clothes he wore yesterday, (and was that the faint aroma of perfume wafting off him?).

He had somewhere in his subconscious considered and accepted the possibility that he may not exit this man’s office fully in tact.

“I am trying to understand how it is that my beloved and disturbed wife, whom I entrusted under your wing some five years past, has somehow flown the nest on her own behest and doing?”

“That is..." Crabbe cleared his parched throat. "This is a most unusual and grievous situation, inspector. Most unusual, indeed."

He didn’t notice Jedediah make any movement, but he sensed the man's body tense. Crabbe's flight instinct urged him to run.

“How was she before she took her leave?" Shine's voice became gentle. "Was she still suffering from the same delusions of...whatever it was she was raving about? I can barely remember what they were about now.”

Dr. Crabbe thought such murderous ramblings of one’s wife would not easily be forgotten. It was, to him, odd that he would forget all that Laura accused him of. Unless, perhaps, the good inspector was lying...

“She was, last I saw her, quite lucid in her disposition, but her complexion was pale, her face wan, her hair thin. She did not ‘rave’,” using Shine’s own word, “about any past events, imagined or otherwise.”

Shine kept an eye on the doctor for a beat before replying. “Well, that is a relief, doctor. She was ever a talented liar, my Laura."

A tentative smile tugged at one side of the doctor's mouth. _I dare say you may be the talented one, Inspector Shine._  

He turned his attention to the director. “So, tell me how this all unfolded, sir.  My wife, you say,” the words sounded strange and sour on his tongue, “simply up and walked out?”

The old man swallowed hard. “Er, no. She...overcame one of our male wardens, sir.”

A muscle jumped in his jaw. Shine blinked several times in mock shock. “Which warden. That warden?” Shine’s eyes never left the director. “The gib-faced pigeon-chested one?” He scoffed. “A barefooted nipper from Spitalfields could take on that windfake.” His gaze shot at the warden, who cowered in the shadow. "What did you do?"

"Pardon, sir?" The director asked. 

"I ain't talking to you,” he admonished the director. “I want to know what the weasel in the corner of this room did to her. Hm? Did you take liberties with her? I know your type."

The warden swallowed audibly.

"Can't get a woman to say howdy do out there," Shine pointed to the window, "so you prey on the helpless, the scared, the witless. Did you touch my wife?" He asked pointedly. 

The warden stared at the floor. A great shuffle and clearing of throats occurred between Crabbe and the director. The topic was not one usually spoken of so casually. Shine could see the man's chest heaving. He stood up and perambulated around his desk to stand before him, noticing with satisfaction his affect on the younger man.

"I've asked you a question, son. Hm? Cat got your tongue? Did you or did you not touch my wife?” Shine's voice was smooth, and all the more dangerous because of it.

Despite the awkward moment, Crabbe observed the natural dominance the inspector had over this man with fascination... and a kind of admiration. It was like watching a lion or a gorilla mark his territory in the wild, forcing all the lesser males out. Interesting, he thought, at how most men, himself included, had no need for muscle and might in the modern and scientific world. They had labored to build tools in which to control one’s environment, replacing the need to adapt and grow stronger in order to survive. 

Yet here, in this office, he now observed a man who dressed like a modern man, yet behaved with incandescent primordial fancy. Indeed, Shine’s protruding forehead perpetuated this image. It was almost cro-magnon in its angle and position, punctuated by a slightly receding hairline and bushy eyebrows. His nose, long and majestic, could easily be used to pick up scents on the breeze. Unbidden, Crabbe wondered whether Shine’s cock was just as majestic. Most like, came an answer from somewhere. 

It was utterly refreshing, if not slightly arousing, he had to admit, to see such a shameless display of alpha male swagger. If only he wasn’t so terrified for his own physical safety in the man’s presence, he thought with a silent sigh. 

He was also slightly terrified for the boy, for he knew that this particular warden had indeed taken liberties with Laura Shine. Other wardens had done the same. Hadn't he done so himself? It is a great temptation in his field and men are weak, after all. And it’s always hard to resist the beautiful ones. Best not to analyze one's own thoughts too deeply on the matter. But should he say anything in this moment, he would certainly be sentencing the poor boy to death. Of this he was sure.

"N-n-no, sir. I did not take liberties with your wife."

Shine leaned in to hear the boy more clearly. "That so? Well, let me tell you this, son. Should I find out information to the contrary, I promise that you shall see me again. You can bet on that."

The warden stood frozen under the inspector's heavy gaze. Shine slowly turned and returned to his seat.

With a great creak of the chair, Shine leaned forward and stared down the old man with ice in his eyes. Reiterating his earlier question. “Now then, I'm still finding it hard to fathom that she up and walked out of one of the most reputable and guarded institutions in all of London--”

“We had a report of a stolen coat and boots, Mr. Shine--”

“And is now out and about,” Shine continued, ignoring and enraged at the director’s interruption. “- a hazard to herself and to the rest of our good society.” The men bristled at the unhinged crescendo filling the small office punctuated by the slamming of his fist on the wooden desk. “Do you recall, sir,” Shine caught his breath, “what I told you upon bringing Laura into your custody five years past?”

The director stilled. “Sir, please be assured we have our men and the cooperation of the police searching the area for her.”

“I said to you, no, I impressed upon you, the need for maximum security for her. She was, at the time, and likely remains, a threat to herself and to the good people of London. I entrusted you with that responsibility. To go back on this trust is to ensure your complicitness in any crimes,”

“Inspector, I beg your--”

“--misdemeanor or otherwise,” Shine said, ignoring Crabbe’s interjection,  “the poor lady might commit against our community. You understand this, do you not?”

Shine stared at the director for an age until the old man could take no more and looked down. “You best hope that Laura is found alive,” Shine warned, turning his gaze to Crabbe, “in good health, promptly returned to your care and that you and I need not talk like this again.” He sat back heavily in his chair. “Are we clear, sir?” Shine’s voice rang against the glass.

“We are, Mr. Shine.”

"I am sure I do not need to remind you that I am friends with a great many newspaper editor and hacker in this town. Should you lose sight of the wife of an inspector in the London Metro Police you can be sure that public opinion of your great institution will be turned against you so fast you won't know your ass from a hole in the ground. Gone will be the many benefactors and patrons who help line your pockets. And get hold of your wardens, Director," he added as a final note. "Exposure of such grievous abuses of those wretched souls...well, let me just say there is a special kind of currency prisoners accept in jail. And it ain't made of metal. Good day to you, sirs."

*****

“Jedediah!” The woman pushed her way into his office.

“Sir, I couldn’t contain her. Ma’am! You can’t just barge into --”

“I’ll barge anywhere I wish, you bastard.”

Jedediah held up a hand. “Desk Sergeant Bradley, let Mrs. Watkins by.”

The woman's eyebrows went up. She wrenched her arm from the sergeant with a satisfied hrmph and straightened her skirt before approaching Jedediah.

“Close the door,” was his command to her. “What is it, Maggie. What brings you here.”

“It’s my Tommy. And your Laura, Jed.”

Jedediah stared at her impassively. “What about them? Have you seen her?"

“Oh I have indeed, Jed. This morning, in fact. She shows up looking all manner of criminal. Filthy. Speaking in that soft voice she always put on to get my brother in law, God rest his soul, to do her bidding. She wanted to enter my home but I put my foot down, I did. Told her I didn’t want nothing to do with her no more. If she has been released from that asylum it was news to me. She says she’s free, has money, and needs my Tommy to help her get her things from your home.

"I told him, Jed drew a line in the sand years ago, Tommy. You help her, you go against him. And Jed, you knows I’m loyal to you, I am.”

He nodded.

“And Tommy. You knows he is, too, Jed. But the children, they needs new shoes and he was laid off of his job due to his bad shoulder. I been mending shirts to make rent, but times are bad, Jed. Been a long, hard winter.”

Jedediah sighed. He would remember to give her coin before she left, but his exhaustion was making his patience as threadbare as her shawl. “So Tommy went with her. To do what, help her get her things?”

“That's right. But something don't sit well with me about the whole thing, it don't."

“Maggie, Laura has not been released. She’s a fugitive. You were right to come to me. You think they are at my home in Limehouse now?”

Maggie nodded. “There was more that Laura mentioned to him, something or someone to be picked up somewheres, but...oh, Jed, I couldn’t make it all out. Tommy and me, we had an awful row before he left. She said Maurice gave her coin she could give Tommy to cover rent this month and he felt he hads to do it.”

“Maurice?”

“Yeh, what I said, Jed. You listenin' to me? Stayed with him this night past, she says.”

“Maurice Linklater?”

“Only Maurice I know."

*****

“Barton, I’m to my house in town.”

“I’ll fetch us a hansom.”

“No, Sergeant, I’ll fetch my own. If Linklater shows, hold him here until I return. I would speak with him.”


	18. Chapter 18

Elena’s dizziness passed in stages. She was vaguely aware of being in some sort of conveyance, a carriage, most like. The rag in her mouth was loose. She spit it out and took in a deep breath to scream, but the sound died in her throat when she felt meaty and filthy finger encircle her throat.  
“Behave, girl.”

Her hair was loose. She knew this because each time she shifted her head she felt a pull as though the ends were snagged on something. The next thing she knew she was being hauled outside.

It was difficult keeping her feet under her as she was dragged up the steps by a large man with a full beard and greasy hands.

He smelled of smoke and salt. Salt from the sweat on his skin. And mushrooms or something earthy. And each time he bent towards her she smelled the scent of scalp. It made the dizziness knock on the door again. Bile reached the back of her throat. She tried her best to tamp it down.

The male animal backed away to survey his work. Behind him, the strange woman. For the first time, Elena was able to get a good look at her female captor.

Her hair, blonde, shorter than what was fashionable, was coiled up carelessly, her skin was ruddy. She had patches of eczema on her neck and hands. Her green eyes bulged out of her skull like shiny marbles. They were lined with red and blinked compulsively. Perhaps they had been beautiful once, but Elena didn't care for how they preyed upon her. Her dress was far too big for her. Her fingernails were chewed to the quick.

Her captors shoved her into a room. A bedroom.

“Now,” Laura said as she pulled out a chair.  “You sit here like a good girl while I go away for a moment. Tommy here will tie you up nice and tight while I go fetch some things for meself.”

“I will not,” Elena said defiantly.

“You will or Tommy here will do more to you than that, you understand?”

Tommy looked at Laura with the slightest hint of confusion. Elena noticed it.

Laura ignored the reaction and turned on her heels with a swish of skirt. “Get to it, Tommy. It’s what I’m paying you for.”

With a sigh Tommy pulled Elena down into the seat and began to tie her trembling hands together. Then each ankle against a leg of the chair.

“Why are you doing this?” She asked the man, hunched before her. He seemed to be the less calculating of the two and hoped through him she would come to know what this was all about.

“It’s best you stay quiet, miss.”

“Is it money you want?" She pressed. "I do not have money with me, but I can get it. Is it...is it ransom? Do you know my husband, Michael Hartley? Did he owe you money?”

“Shut it, I said," Tommy looked over his shoulder toward the door. "Or I'll be forced to stick that gag back in your mouth."

“Why? Why must I be silent?" She looked around. "Where am I?”

“Do you not know?”

Elena looked around desperately, but recognized nothing. She shook her head. Her tendrils quivering around her face.

“You really don’t know where you are?” He asked again.

“I swear it. Please, whatever it is you believe me guilty of, you are mistaken. I have no knowledge of this place or you or that woman.”

She was not sure why her ignorance was significant, but she suddenly felt more desperate to plead her case.

“Huh,” is all he said.

"Please. I beg you. Let me go and I swear I will not go to the police."

Tommy sniffed and simply shook his head. 

With every passing moment Elena’s clarity cleared, but with it came increased fear. Her heart raced wildly in her chest. Her lungs struggled to suck in air that felt scarce. She was still shaking.

Her mind raced with questions and frantic grasps at hope. Would this man rape her? Would this deranged woman kill her? Could she wrench her hands free from these bonds? Would Jedediah know that she was missing? Know where she was? Would he be able to rescue her before her captors committed any real damage? What did these people want of her? Why bring her to this house? Where was this house? Whose house was this?

She inhaled and exhaled sharply several times through her nose and clenched her eyes shut.

Although she did not have her prayer rope in her bound hands, she slowly, silently, began to recite the words in her native tongue that had provided her comfort since she was a child.

Gospodi Iisuse Khriste, Syne Bozhiy, pomiluy mya greshnuyu. Amin Gospodi Iisuse Khriste, Syne Bozhiy, pomiluy mya greshnuyu. Amin Gospodi Iisuse Khriste, Syne Bozhiy, pomiluy mya greshnuyu. Amin Gospodi Iisuse Khriste, Syne Bozhiy, pomiluy mya greshnuyu. Amin

 _Lord Jesus Christ have mercy on me, a sinner. Amen._ _Lord Jesus Christ have mercy on me, a sinner. Amen._ _Lord Jesus Christ have mercy on me, a sinner_. Amen.  _Lord Jesus Christ have mercy on me, a sinner_

She did this over and over until she felt her breath and mind slow down.

Her gaze lifted slowly and moved around the room.

A bedroom. Green wallpaper, a large bed, neatly made with a wooden footboard and headboard. The scent of sandalwood and leather. Utterly masculine. Like Jedediah, she thought. Her heart sank, but she pushed the despair of the moment down as far as she could and continued to study her surroundings. To her right, a chessboard. To her left, a fireplace mantle. On that mantle, candles, a Ming replica vase, trophies. Was she supposed to recognize this room?

She squinted to read the engravings on the trophies and with stunned realization made out the same name on each:

_J. Shine_

*****

“I shall return momentarily, girl. Don’t try anything foolish.” Tommy’s voice cut through her shock.

Elena silenced her breathing so she could hear where the man went. She could hear footfalls across the hallway.

“Laura. She don’t even know where she is. You think killin’ her is going to mean a hill of beans to him? She don’t even know whose house this is.”

“Oh Tommy. Don’t be so soft. Maurice told me everything this night past. Believe me when I tell you, that Russian whore is significant.” Laura rummaged through dressers and closets, pulling out small wads of money and stuffing them into a pillow case.

“Besides, when has he ever been completely truthful to anyone. Hm? Especially you and me. Remember what he did to your brother? Because I do.”

“You know I do,” Tommy said solemnly.

“And you know you why he did it?”

“Because David was an informant, Laura.”

“No," she said emphatically. "No, he tortured and burned David,” her lip quivered as she struggled to say the words, “because he loved me. And I loved him. We were planning on leaving, David and me. Jedediah didn't love me, but he weren’t going to give up what's his without a fight. Only it weren’t no fight, Tommy. Five men took him from my bed in the night. They tortured him. Burned him," her voice a rasp. "Then Jedediah presented his work to me before he threw me into the asylum. He knew I knew the truth. I knew the truth about who ordered David’s murder, about all the murders. And he wasn't going to kill me because he would have been under suspicion. He silenced me by locking me up and having those fucking bastards torture the memories out of me. Only it didn't work, you see.

“No amount of electrotherapy could remove the horror he brought on me. He was the monster under my bed, the black, faceless shadow in my nightmares! For years my cries went unheard. But I will be silent no more. He will know what it feels like to look upon the charred remains of his lover," she said with wild eyes as she thrust a cheesewire into Tommy’s hand.

“What in bleedin’ hell do you need me to do with this?” Tommy's eyebrows stitched together in confusion. "Nah, Laura, I can't--"

“Jedediah will be here. When, I am not sure. But meet him at the door."

Tommy's ears pricked at the clanging sound of a hansom stopped in front of the house.

"I'm not asking you to kill him," Laura continued obliviously. "Just incapacitate him. I want him conscious to watch when--”

“Laura," Tommy stopped her.

“What?”

“He’s here.”


	19. Chapter 19

Jedediah alit from the hansom, looking right and left before stepping off the platform onto the street below.

The street he lived on was separated from the confluence of the Commercial and India Dock Roads in Limehouse by a promontory of houses and other dwellings filled with the growing middle classes.

He hopped up the few steps leading to his great arched door and inserted the metal skeleton key he kept in his coat pocket.

Stepping into his foyer, he quietly peered left and right for signs of life. Of Laura.

He shut the door. The stairs leading to his bedrooms stretched up before him.

His bedroom.

When this was over, he would introduce Elena to his real home. Would she like living in the bustling suburb of London? With him?

And then came the once familiar voice from inside the darkened drawing room to his right. “Hullo, Jedediah.”

A voice that gave away her once privileged background. Of education. Of potential for entry into society. Relinquished, or rather cut from as decreed from her father, when she chose to leave that world over west behind for a boy with permanently grimy fingernails.

“Laura,” he kept his voice purposefully gentle. “Laura, you’ve caused quite a rumpus with your leaving the hospital the way you did. You've got lots of people looking for you.”

“Asylum. You mean.”

He sighed and shrugged out of his plaid coat, hanging it on the nearby coat rack. "And yet, here you are. In the place we used to call our home."

"It was never my home."

Slowly stepping forward, he saw her back up- as though they were magnets of opposing forces. He shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned against a doorframe.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Laura. But I want you to come with me.”

Laura was determined to remain calm in the face of evil. “No. I will not be going anywhere with the likes of you. I want my things and then I will take my leave. But before I say my goodbyes…”

*****

A shout died in his throat as something wrapped around his neck. The attacker heaved behind him, grunting as he threw his weight backwards, taking Jedediah with him.

Instinct kicked in for Jedediah.

He was unable to breathe.

And that was the only thing that mattered.

Not fighting. Not killing the attacker. Not even getting out of his house.

Just catching a breath.

The man was pulling whatever it was around Jedediah’s throat even tighter.

He clawed at his throat.

Pain bloomed in his ribcage.

Unable to shout, as he had already lost most of his breath, he tried with all his collossal weight to weave his fingers in under the long length of material around his neck.

A fucking silk tie.

His vision tunneled, blackened around the edges.

Using one hand, he made a fist and struck out at the attacker who barely dodged it. Jedediah tried again, but quickly decided trying to get whatever was around his neck off was more important. He couldn’t fight if he couldn’t breathe. It was as simple as that.

The unseen man began to drag Jedediah into the drawing room. Jedediah tossed his weight back and forth, but his weakened strength had nothing on the man’s extra hundred or so pounds forcing him along.

He still couldn’t catch a breath.

Jedediah felt his body being forced into a chair. The man held fast to the noose-like vice around Jedediah’s neck as Laura pounced forward and tied his legs together. She was no match for her husband’s strength, but adrenaline gave her what she needed in the moment. With a grunt she wrenched one hand down from where he had been clawing at his neck and tied a rope around it.

“Keep fast, Tommy. He’s now weakened enough for me to grab and fasten his wrists.”

Only when Laura had finished fastening his ankles and wrists together did Tommy loosen his grasp. Jedediah’s mouth gaped open as he swallowed convulsively. His lungs burned. His throat burned. 

Jedediah gasped. “Fucking Tommy Watkins,” he croaked. “Always were a cunt, you.”

“Sorry, Jed. Nothing personal, you understand.”

“No need to curse, Jedediah. He’s only doing what he was paid to do. He is, after all, just as venal as you.”

“Glad to see Dr. Crabbe weren’t able to squash that congenial disposition of yours, Laura girl. And Tommy, never took you to take orders from a woman.” Jedediah coughed and spit. “That wife of yours got your knackers in a jar next to your bedside, I imagine. You know, this is a man’s world we live in, Tommy. And you going to follow the orders of a deranged, delusional fugitive? How much did she offer you. Hm? Of my money?” His gaze moved to Laura. “Or is it Maurice’s money?”

Laura looked at Jedediah, a question across her brow. How would he know about that?

“Like I said, ain’t nothin personal. Laura just needed some help to get your attention.”

“Alright then,” he coughed, “Laura girl. I am truly and... captivated." He flexed his hands open and close. "What is it you need me to know.”

Laura stared at her husband, bound against a chair in the drawing room, then and knelt to light the kindling for the fire.

When Laura said nothing, Jedediah turned back to Tommy, who backed up and stood against the wall by the doorway.

“You gonna pull up a chair, Tommy? Or hurry home to Maggie." His voice barely worked. "Oh, speaking of. Came to see me, she did. This very morning.”

“Did she now?” Tommy said flatly.

“She had all manner of things to say,” Jedediah croaked. “Laura showing up at your door, tossing out money, asking you to be an accomplice to help her break and enter into the home of an inspector with the metropolitan police of London. Shall I add attempted murder to that list of charges, Tommy? Seems to me the last thing a man on the dole needs is a rap sheet.” Jedediah coughed and spit some more.

“That’s enough, Jedediah,” Laura shouted. “I’ve heard all I can take from the likes of you. Tommy, don’t talk to him. And besides, ones cannot steal things that belong to one, is that not true.”

“Knackers in a jar…” Jedediah practically sung to Tommy, ignoring Laura.

“Go get her and bring her down.” Laura's command was sharp.

“What’s this? Another accomplice? Blooming fantastic, Laura. Let’s bring everyone down here so we can have a chat. Maybe pull up a table so we can play a game of whist. You'll no doubt find some of the good sherry in that there cabinet behind ya.”

Laura stood and placed her hands on her hips, surveying the roaring fire. “Maurice told me all manner of things about what you’ve been doing lately, Jedediah. And with whom.”

Jedediah’s ears pricked when he heard shouting. It was most definitely a woman. And from the sound of it, a foreign one. He could hear a great commotion on the landing and then two pairs of boots stomping down the wooden steps. One pair shuffling more than the other, like it was being half dragged. All the while, the woman’s voice rang in his left ear.

A familiar and husky voice, parched, desperate. Afraid.

And Russian.

And then it was clear.

 _There was more that Laura mentioned to him, something to be picked up somewheres..._ Maggie had said.

“Can you not shut her up, Tommy?” Laura looked at Elena annoyed.

“The bitch refuses to shut her gob. I think she’s cursing me with that gypsy tongue of hers. She’s been saying the same shit over and over.”

“She ain’t a gypsy, you dumb twat.” All three shot glances at Jedediah.

Laura gloated.

“So you do know her, Jed.”

“Yeah, I know her. Know her well enough to be happy to see her go back to her homeland as soon as this is all over.”

Elena was forced down on her knees before the fire, in the middle of the Persian. She muttered in Russian non-stop, angry, spitting in Laura’s direction. Upon hearing Jedediah’s words she turned her head to gaze at him.

Jedediah prayed that what he was saying would not be lost in translation. He must not let on the truth about his feelings. Not to Laura, for he had a sickening feeling he knew what she was going to do.

Laura knelt in front of Elena and studied the captive woman, her hands bound behind her, her chest heaving. “She is a feisty one, is she not, Jedediah. Just your type.”

“She ain’t my type, Laura. You need to check your sources.”

“Who? Maurice? Jedediah Shine’s loyal soldier, a man privy to all manner of information and detail related to his longtime superior?”

“Ol Maurice has gotten quite soft with his morphine. He is far from credible these days,” Shine retorted dismissively.

Laura looked at Elena and cocked her head. “He says this whore is special to the mighty, the inscrutable, the indomitable Jedediah Shine! That you’ve been spending quite a lot of time together since the dear dead husband crossed over. Even stepping out in public.

“Tell me, Elena, has he yet taken you to his favorite brothel? Has he shown you his barbaric methods of taking his 'Nebuchadnezzar out to pasture?' I dare say, his long tenure in Hong Kong truly informed his perverse and disgusting habits.”

Elena’s face lit up with a fury. “I say nothing to you. You crazy woman.”

Laura laughed. “I am crazy, you say? No, my dear,” she said with mock sympathy, “I am not the lunatic in this room. Do you know with whom you cavort? Hm? Has he made you aware of his proclivities for bringing pain into others’ lives?”

“Laura, girl, I’ve been helping her get her feet back on the ground after her husband, a former colleague of mine, left her penniless. That is all.”

“It is never _all_ with you.”

Jedediah let out sigh and rolled his head. “Then if nothing I say holds any credit to you, why are we having this chat? I grow tired of this game, Laura. You best let the lady leave now. Tommy, old girl, how much is she paying you? I know the wee nippers need new shoes. I’ll pay you double. Untie me now.”

Tommy did not move.

“Jedediah, understand this. This is no game. And this here is no chat. You will listen to what I have to say and pay attention.”

“I’ll do no such thing.”

“Oh, I quite doubt that.”


	20. Chapter 20

Elena knelt before the warm fire, grateful in one way to be enveloped in its warmth and out of the cold, locked bedroom upstairs.

Despairing in another way that she was to be the main event to whatever was happening in the drawing room.

When she saw Jedediah, the look he flashed her was of fear and fury. She noticed a subtle change in his breathing as she was dragged before him and pushed to her knees.

She knew where she was now. Jedediah’s home.

She knew who Laura was now. Jedediah’s wife.

 _She died_.

A lie. 

But why?

Why was Elena here, bound, and presented like collateral?

What she did know was the acute sense of betrayal that began to bloom inside her chest. She had opened up to him, he had done the same, so she thought. But all that was a ruse.

Elena’s strength seemed to falter in the light of this revelation. Yet her survival instincts stubbornly refused to give in.

She quietly wrestled her hands in the bonds, hoping that Tommy, who stood like a silent sentinel behind her, was oblivious to her silent struggle. How could he not know what she was trying to do? She felt as though she was jerking violently and loudly.

“You killed him. I know you did. I know you ordered it.”

Both women stared at him.

Jedediah’s eyebrows raised. “Oh, you want me to speak now, do you? I thought I was to listen to your pontificating on what a heartless monster you married. You can’t have it both ways, love.”

“I think under the circumstances I can have it any way I like.”

Jedediah chewed the inside of his cheek. “Alright then. You wish to know why David was killed? Why don’t we start from the beginning? There was a baby. Then there wasn’t one. By then, you had already snagged me as a husband. A sucker, I was.”

“The miscarriage.”

“Oh, no, let’s call it for what it was. You had it aborted. The blood that flooded out of you onto the straw mattress we had made the room smell like a butcher’s for weeks. I know an abortion when I see one, Laura.”

“You never said anything.”

“What was there to say. Your exploits were by then quite well known to the men of my ranks and all the costers at market. I had a whore as a wife and worse yet, you couldn’t even provide your husband with a warm meal at the end of his long shift.”

“You left me alone. I was always alone.”

“I thought you’d welcome it. How many men did you invite into our marriage bed with no consideration for my wishes, hm?” Jedediah chuckled ruefully. “You knew who I was. And you knew my job would take me away for hours at a time. It paid for your fripperies! For the roof over your head!” He bellowed. And when the Hong Kong assignment came I took it, no question. Left you to your whore ways with no judgement from your pathetic husband. I’d had quite enough!”

“Ten years, though. Ten long years.”

“Only to come back and find my mate David in bed with my wife. ‘We’re in love, you said to me. We’re gonna run away together, he and I.”

“And you couldn’t stand that I had chosen someone else over you. That anyone had chosen someone else over you. Jealous, is what you were.”

“You go on deluding yourself, Laura. But know this when I tell you, I had never loved anyone before you. And when you lied. When you betrayed me time and time again, pushed me away. Rejected my touch...”

“I don’t care about you!”

“That is clear. That has always been clear.”

“Tell me now. Why did you have him killed?? Why did you lock me away for five years!”

“Are your questions rhetorical or do you really want me to answer them?”

“I want to hear it from your mouth!”

Jedediah's throat tore. “Alright.”

“You killed him because you were jealous. You couldn’t bear the thought that your wife could be happy with another man. A man so close to you!”

“Are you going to let me ta--”

“You locked me away because I threatened to tell the truth!”

“About what exactly.”

“About you.”

“About me.”

“Yes. About what you did when you weren’t pretending to me the illustrious and fabled inspector of K Division. I know about all your crimes. Who your master is.”

“Everyone has a master, Laura.”

“And I threatened to tell them all!”

“Who is _them all_?”

“Your superiors at Scotland Yard! At your constables! All at Covent Garden Market!!”

“Was this going to be before or after you tried to take your own life?” Jedediah’s voice boomed in the room. Turning to the others, “I apologize, Ms. Hartley, for any inconvenience my wife has subjected you to. And I intend to offer my recompense--”

Laura grabbed a glowing red poker and turned towards Elena.

Jedediah asked. “Laura, come now. Let’s work this out, you and me. Let Tommy here go home. Ms. Hartley likewise.”

“I want to see your face as you watch your beloved Russian bitch go up like a powder keg.”

“You belong in that asylum, you know that? I should have put you there when you proved unable to keep your blooming legs closed.” His eyes crossed as he looked down at a glowing poker suddenly aimed at his chest. “What’s this. You burn me alive? You can’t kill me, Laura.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Absolutely.”

“How so?”

“You don’t have it in you. You’re not a murderer.”

“Not like you.”

“Not like me. I will never apologize for what happened to David. He deserved what he got and more besides.”

“You have no soul.”

“I have no soul,” he agreed.

Jedediah could see Elena's shoulders shrugging back and forth. Her eyes flew to Tommy, who stood fixed by the wall. He needed to distract Laura while Elena worked her wrists out of the binding.

“I detest you," Laura continued. "My life is in ruins because of you." Here her voice broke. "Because of what you did.”

“I know,” he agreed again. The poker began to bob up and down. Jedediah “I also know that the men at the asylum will pay for the liberties and abuses they inflicted on you. I promise that.”

She laughed wryly. “Those men. They don’t exist, Jedediah. I don’t care what they did to me. To my body. To my mind. There was nothing left of me to abuse. You saw to that when you presented his charred body to me like a trophy.” Jedediah could see shiny tears streaming down her face. “How heartless could you be? Why would you do that?”

“I was following orders.”

“Liar!”

“He betrayed the wrong men. Men who made him. Men who made us both. He knew better. I did what I had to do.”

“But I loved him, Jedediah.”

“Laura, girl, you remember what you want to remember about David. Make me the villain of your every waking moment if it helps you face each day. But before you impale that poker into my chest, know this. David Watkins died swearing that he would leave you and begged for mercy like a bitch.”

“What?” Her voice faltered. “What are you talking about, ‘leave me?’”

Elena's face contorted for a split second before her eyes widened. She had done it.

Jedediah focused on Laura again. “Yeah. It’s what I said. He had grown tired of you and your needy, psychotic, suffocating blathering! He saw you for what I knew you to be - more trouble than it was worth.”

The words sank in.

Laura half blinked in disbelief.

Sensing a chink in the armor, he continued, “And burning Ms. Hartley alive, burning me alive. It ain’t going to change that fact. And the day I am rid of your burden will be the highest of high days for me, girl.”

Laura shuddered as she wiped tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. Behind her, Elena's voice rang out.

Laura sniffed and turned on her heels. What are you going on about again? You praying for your soul?”

Elena’s eyes flew up to Laura’s. “No,” she said threateningly. “Now I pray for _you_.”


	21. Chapter 21

“Don’t waste your breath, my dear.” Jedediah interjected.

“Yes, do not waste your breath on me. Your God has no jurisdiction here.” Laura agreed.

“I will pray when, where and for whom I wish," Elena stated stridently.

“You’ll do as you’re told.” Laura’s tone was harsh, but her hands visibly shook now, belying her confidence.

 _You should be afraid,_ Jedediah thought.

“Do you know what odor you never forget the smell of, girl? Burning flesh. Have you ever experienced it?”

Bushy, dark eyebrows shot up his forehead. “Bit like pork cracklin’,” Jedediah offered dismissively.

Elena’s heart stopped beating. The fire continued to crackle. The clock on the mantle continued to tick.

A muscle in Laura’s jaw tensed. She refocused on the woman seated at her feet.

“Laura, how long is this going to take?” Jedediah asked lazily from behind her. “I really, really have enjoyed this little reunion, but I think it’s time move this along. Tommy, would you be so kind and cut me out of this chair?”

“Jedediah considers himself to be a man of much influence in his tiny, meaningless world of tinsel and brass.”

Elena looked up at Laura, then Jedediah, then back to Laura.

And he had made her feel like a queen. For a few days, the man who had forced her to offer her body in return for favors had made her feel more joy than she had felt her entire life.

But this was all a ruse.

She should have known that Jedediah Shine would not want more than her body. He cared so little for her that he refused her presence in his real home. He lied to her about his wife.

_Ya tvoy, Elena. I am yours, Elena._

He had done it so convincingly.

How he must have laughed at her behind her back.

Jedediah watched in horror as Elena’s mind swirled into a chaos of emotion. His heart began to thump against his ribcage.

He could not lose her.

Elena looked down.  “And we his playthings,” she murmured under her breath.

“What?” Laura leaned down.

“I said, we are his playthings. Do you want to know what I mean to him? Nothing. My husband left me with nothing. He owed money to a gambling hall owned by a man named Addison, so my solicitor said. I went to Jedediah, having been told that he may help me deal with this Addison. Only to be told that Jedediah owned that very gambling hall. So, by owing Addison, I owed Jedediah.”

“He offered to help you?”

Her eyes met his. “He did. For a price.”

“And what was that price, Elena?” Laura turned to look at Jedediah. “Or shall I wager a guess.” She chuckled deeply. “Ugh. How utterly predictable you are, husband. Force a woman to whore herself for you so that you can recoup the money lost? Is that it?”

Jedediah’s eyes gleamed with defiance. “Not quite like that. You’ve always been astute when it came to assuming the worst in men, my dear, but in this case, I weren’t planning on whoring Ms. Hartley out to any man. I wanted her all to myself.”

“That so?”

“The agreement,” he continued, “was that she was to do my bidding, sexual or otherwise, for a week.” He coughed and spit to his right. “For a week’s subjection,” he continued, “I would waive all debt and she would be free to do as she pleased.”

“And how did you find it following Jedediah’s orders for the week? He is quite the iron fist wrapped in a velvet glove, I must say. I hope he was not too rough with you.”

“I can fight for myself.” Elena said simply.

“Oh, I bet you are a tigress.” Laura considered something, “Sad, really. Having to force a woman into submission so that you can have some regular cunny. Jedediah was never one for fucking a prostitute,” she said as an aside. “A policeman’s life is a solitary one. I knew one day the loneliness would get to you if the violence didn’t first. Year after miserable year, you walked these streets and abroad, with nothing but violence and misery reflected in your eyes. Until one day you realize that women won’t look at you anymore. Because you are no longer a man of warm flesh and blood. Your visage is scarred like fight dog, your temper is a hurricane. Your cock, thick and healthy like a young man’s. You’re hung like a stallion, yet sex gives you so little satisfaction. You feel nothing. The opium helps, doesn’t it. It numbs the pain. It shuts off the visions in your mind of mutilated corpses, of terrified children you’ve left fatherless…”

Jedediah sighed impatiently.

“It must have been a pot of gold for you,--”

“What?”

“That furry muff of hers. Especially if she fought you and you had to pin her down. To fuck her into submission.” She turned to Elena. “He likes that. To be hit. To have his flesh tear. Then the final conquest…”

_Enough._

Elena had had enough of the vulgarity. Enough of all of this. She drew back and spit at Laura, hitting her in the eye.

Laura wiped the spittle from her eye. Her face contorted. She fumed. "You will burn," she declared through gritted teeth. "You will burn and Jedediah will watch you as you scream in pain and your skin blackens!"

Elena heard Jedediah’s bellow “NO!”, but had little time to react when she heard the whistle of the poker cut through the air. In the next moment, her forehead was pressed on the rug. She reached a trembling hand to her cheek. Viscous liquid erupted suddenly from her cheek and lip.

Her fingers, now shiny and wet with blood.

She was in too much shock to speak.

Laura’s shoulders heaved up and down over Elena.

Jedediah furiously glowered over towards Tommy. The malicious gleam in his eye was full of promise. No threats. Only promises. Obediently, Tommy clambered over to Jedediah with a knife and began to saw at the binds.

Laura whirled around. The room whirled with her. “Tommy! Why are her hands untie--” Her mouth flew open as she watched Jedediah brush off the ropes with the look of a feral dog.

She stammered backwards.

Elena saw Jedediah, looming before Laura, fists at his side. She glanced up at Laura’s back and instinctively threw her legs out from under her. She entwined them with Laura’s boots and scissored them, causing Laura to gasp and grasp at the air around her.

She shrieked and fell backwards.

Elena held her breath as Jedediah stepped over her and stood over Laura’s body.

Laura gazed up at Jedediah. She shuddered.

Jedediah slowly lowered himself, straddling Laura’s body, moving as slow as a great steamship, holding her still with his hands as her body instinctively struggled to free itself.

"Jed-!" She whimpered.

“Sh-sh-sh-sh,” he sounded gently as though speaking to a scared child. “Can you see David in the room? Hm? I'm told that as Death approaches, you see the spirits of your loved ones all about you."

Elena, trembling, sat up and scooted back from both of them. Her heart lurched in her chest. Ice coursed through her veins.

"I know you wished to inflict some sort of restitution on me for killing your lover by endangering an innocent person. An eye for an eye. But you failed, Laura. You are nothing. Your words, they are nothing more than the devil’s breath to my ears. Your actions futile. They do nothing but quicken your journey into the afterlife.

“Now, as you contemplate your last foul breaths, I want you to know that you were right about me. You were right, that I had slowly begun to transform into some sort of animated machine. I had stopped feeling." He caressed her lips with his thumb. She blinked, owl-like. "But when this is over, when I am finally rid of you, and you are buried 6 feet under, at long last, I vow to live again. Breathe again. Love again. You see, I already do. Do you feel my might, my dear?

“Tommy,” Jedediah called back weakly. “Tommy, go to the police." He sniffed. "Tell them,” he caressed Laura’s cheek with one hand, while the other encircled her neck, “there’s been a terrible accident. A woman lays dead in Inspector Shine’s house. She lost her footing and fell back and hit her head.”

Jedediah held his breath.

Tears fell from the outer corners of Laura’s stunned eyes.

Elena watched the muscles under Jedediah’s shirt and waistcoat tense.

A whisper of sound and a sickening thud.

Laura’s feet twitched once. Twice. 

Then nothing but the sound of the ticking clock on the mantle.


	22. Chapter 22

The world outside was gone.

Jedediah hunched over Laura’s limp body, his hands flat on the floor on either side of her ears. A black mass began to pool underneath her hair, inching its way to his left fingers. He felt the kiss of the cool, viscous liquid against them and jerked up.

For a moment, the adrenaline that shot through him made his whole body tremble with an orgasmic rush.

A feminine whimper over his left shoulder broke him out of his reverie.

“Jedediah?” Elena brought a bloody hand onto his trembling arm. Her voice a painful whisper.

He turned to her abruptly.

“Oh my girl, my sweet girl...what did she do to you? Are you alright?” He tilted her head to the side to survey the cut on Elena’s cheek.

She held onto his strong wrists as his hands framed her face. His eyes were wild, her breathing rapid.

“Are you in shock? Elena. Tell me your whole name.”

“Elena Nikolaevna Hartley," she said slowly.

“Nikolaevna?” Jedediah asked sweetly. “I never knew that.” He sniffed. “Do you know where you are?”

Elena's eyes danced about the room. “Am I in your house, Jedediah? Is this where you sleep?”

“It is, my dear. You’re in my home.”

“I do not understand why you lied…” A tear fell from her left eye. The salt stung her cheek and she whimpered.

“Don’t cry, my dear.”

He knew he would have to explain some things, but his mind raced with the urgency of the moment.

Police.

Coroner.

Inquiry.

Newspapers.

A chorus of meddlers, policemen, civilians, hackers all echoed in his mind.

_Why was the widow of an ex colleague held against her will and injured in your home, Inspector Shine?_

_How came you to know Mrs. Hartley?_

_What is the nature of your relationship with Mrs. Hartley?_

_Were you, a married man, engaged in carnal acts with Mrs. Hartley?_

_Were you, sir, engaged in sexual converse with said lady?_

_Is she your Russian concubine, sir?_

_How was it that your wife passed away and Mrs. Hartley was injured all in the same location and at the same time, Inspector Shine?_

_What are you_ not _telling us?_

The hackers would have a field day.

Elena would lose her right to a private life.

She was beautiful. Made to stand out. Her likeness would be in the papers alongside Jedediah’s. The scandal would be damaging. Damaging, at least, until the fickle readers of London caught scent of another topic, another tale of gossip and woe, another person’s misfortune.

But anyone close to Elena, members of her church, would always know…

_Adulteress._

Scotland Yard would also not forget so quickly.

It might cost Jedediah his career. His wife lay dead in his home. A wife who had recently escaped from an asylum.

_Adulterer._

Elena stared up into the shadowy eyes of her lover, which darted over and surveyed her cheek scrupulously. Coarse hands gently cupped her face, hands that she ached for, in spite of the disorienting fact that a dead woman's ragged petticoats draped over her legs and boots.

“A doctor must look at this.” He stood on his feet and held out a hand. “Come,” came his gentle command.

Elena looked up at him, then his hand. She placed her trembling hand in his and tried to stand, but her knees buckled as she did so.

He caught her before she hit the ground and held her in his arms for a moment. “We can stand here for a moment to catch our breath. Yessss," he hissed softly, almost seductively. "That is what we shall do, my dear.”

She pressed her right cheek against his chest and breathed in his scent. She shut her eyes for a second and listened to Jedediah’s ragged breaths. Her heart was beating furiously. It matched his beat for beat.

Laura’s body lay limp, her feet splayed out in opposite directions, her palms flat towards the ceiling, her head lay on its side, illuminated by the fire. Her eyelashes, exaggerated fanned shadows, quivering against her cheekbones as the flames flickered and spit.

Jedediah had killed Laura. Elena had watched the muscles in his back stretch and pull taut against the silk-back waistcoat as he raised her head and bashed it against the stone hearth. Or rather, she had heard the sickening sound of it. The sound of a skull cracking. The raspy final breath.

His grunt. His sharp exhale.

And she had helped him do it.

She had reacted instinctively to try and bring the deranged woman down by interlocking her feet with Laura’s. And he had pounced on her like a predator.

Jedediah grabbed Elena’s arms and pushed her back at arm’s length. His green eyes bore into her blinking visage. Green eyes that burned with an intensity brought on by fear, concern, determination, solution.

“Elena, listen to me," his voice low and sober. "In a few moments, police will be in this home and patrolling the front and back streets. There is no time to go into detail, so I will keep this brief. I will not have your name dragged through the mire. Do you understand me?”

She stared into the severity of his expression.

“I need you to leave here at once. Here,” he pulled out a wad of cash from his front pocket and placed it in her hands, cupping them with his. “Take this money. Get a cab. Go to the hospital. Tell them you were attacked in the market. Do not tell them what took place here, do you understand? Tell me you understand.”

“I understand," she said meekly. "Jedediah, how will you--”

“I will come find you as soon as it is humanly possible. I know you have questions. And I promise you, I will tell you everything as soon as _this_ is dealt with.”

 _As soon as this is dealt with_ reverberated with its dispassion and detachment in her mind. The body of his murdered wife, like nothing more than spilled milk, needed to be dealt with.

“Elena,” his voice gruffly broke through her thoughts. “Can you do as I say?”

She looked up at him with sudden clarity. “Of course, “ she assured. “I will go to the hospital and say I was attacked in the market. And then you come to me.”

He smiled, relieved. “Good girl. Good girl.” He brought her hands, still clasping the wad of paper money, up to his lips and pressed hard, inhaling the scent of her flesh deeply.

Then she was trotting behind him, pulled along by his hand, towards the back door, their percussive heels echoing off the walls of the corridor. Holding the door open for her, she swept passed him only to be pulled back into a forceful embrace. Lips, dry but soft, met hers. She ignored the pain of the wound that ran along her cheek and lip.

She ignored the anger, the confusion, the feeling that her body would crumble into a pile of dust.

There was a time for all things.

In that instant, as her adrenaline roared in her veins and the sound of horses’ hooves and wagon wheels came ever closer, she thought of only one thing: that this life-taker's kiss was her the breath of life.


	23. Chapter 23

What a jolly mess to clean.

Chief Inspector Abberline did not say those words aloud- that would be disrespectful to the deceased- and to his subordinate. He most certainly entertained the thought, however, as he bent over and gazed down on the now ex-lady of the house. Her fair hair, he once thought to be the color and texture of cornsilk, was shockingly shorn and dirty. Much of it was now clotted in the back. Cold, viscous liquid ballooned around her head as she gazed, dead-eyed like a saint in an orthodox rendering.

Her cheekbones cut sharp lines in the warm glow of the fire. Extraordinary, he thought to himself, the alteration to one’s appearance five years in an asylum can make. Always vivacious and flirtatious. Disrespectfully playful in front of her husband, who seemed to turn a blind eye to her behavior. That is, until he had her committed. Abberline did not know personally what the final straw for Shine was. He would never ask. That was private business between a husband and wife.

Laura’s extremities had begun to turn that ghastly gray color when all the blood ceases to circulate and pools at the lowermost portion of the body. He knew that if he were to turn her over, the skin there would be spongy, bruised-looking. Abberline stroked his Dundreary side whiskers and sighed.

Jolly mess indeed.

The eagle eyes of the old man turned about the room. Nothing looked amiss. No chairs were upturned. No obvious signs of struggle.

There were no scratches on her hands or wrists. No bruising or abrasions on her neck.

He got the distinct impression that eyes were upon him. Watching his movements. He turned abruptly.

Behind him, Jedediah Shine sat on an ottoman, his elbows on his knees, fingers clasped together. As dead-eyed as the deceased. But unlike the deceased, not saintly. Never saintly. 

He turned back and studied Laura's body again. “She tripped and fell backward?” 

“She did.”

"Awful lot of blood from tripping."

Silence behind him.

“When did she get here?” Abberline asked.

“She was here when I arrived home this morning.” He croaked.

"What time was that?"

Shine shook his head and lifted one shoulder, "roughly, half past eight."

"Where were you before this?"

"At the station." Shine coughed.

"How long were you there before returning home?"

"Couple of hours, at least. I had a meeting with a couple of men from the asylum. They informed me that Laura was missing."

"Who attended this meeting?"

"Dr. Karl Crabbe, who attended my wife. The director of Lark House, Edmund Fenton, the ward whom my wife attacked- name I can't recall, and a constable from J Division."

"J Division?"

"Lark House is in Hackney."

"Ah."

Shine cleared his throat and winced.

“What’s wrong with your voice, Shine?”

“My voice, sir?” His voice crackling.

“Shine- play along here. There will be in inquest. You understand it’s merely a formality, but protocol, nonetheless. I will do my utmost to make this an open and shut case. I would know now, before the coroner determines the official cause and time of death, what business went on here.”

Shine’s lips flattened into a line. He cleared his throat.

"Tell me what is wrong with your throat and does it have to do with the death of your wife."

Shine knew Abberline thought processes. Had his wife fought him off before she received the trauma to her head? Was there a scuffle between then which caused her to fall backward? Was Shine's larynx injury the result of Laura defending herself against him?

“Just a rumpus while in pursuit of a man in Chinatown, one, two days past” he minimized. “Misdemeanor, but he tried to evade. He was easy to catch, but my larynx paid the price.”

The old man’s eyes narrowed, considering Shine’s explanation. After a brief pause, Abberline continued. “Tell me what occurred here this morning.”

“I walked in, saw her standing here in this room. I told her people were looking for her. She became visibly upset. She said she was not going back to the asylum. She wanted to get her money, her things, and leave.”

“Where was she planning on going?”

“I suppose I will never know.”

Abberline nodded. “Continue.”

“I approached her. Told her I meant her no harm. But that she needed to sit and we would discuss this. As husband and wife. She panicked at my approach.”

“Why would she do that, Shine?”

 _She knew to fear me._ “My...marriage had not, for many years, been a blessed union, Chief Inspector. As you and all of my colleagues surely know. She knows, _knew,”_ he corrected himself to try to appear in denial, “I _was_  the one who signed the order for her committal. I reckon she felt endangered in my presence.”

“What happened next?”

“Next thing I know she was down. Her skirt was too long, most like. She don’t have a bustle on, see. Her heel probably hooked into the back hem. It was all over in a matter of seconds.”

Abberline nodded his head. “This testimony you provide me is true, then, to the best of your knowledge, Inspector Shine? That you entered your home, attempted to reason with your wife, saw her trip on her own skirt and fall backwards, fatally hitting her head on the stone hearth?”

“It is true, Chief Inspector.”

"It is my belief, and I shall make this official in writing, that the impact on her head was enough to crack the skull; that her health was in visible decline after several years in the care of Lark House. The trauma, which may only incapacitate a man in his prime, was enough to be fatal to one female so obviously fragile."

Shine looked up at the man's dark eyes but said nothing. Abberline would ensure that the case would be open and shut. 

“Very well.” At a knock on the door, Abberline declared, “Ah, that will be the coroner. Then I shall call him in and have Mrs. Shine’s body taken to the mortuary at the nearest hospital. If you are capable, you will need to accompany me and...sign the dreadful paperwork...formally identify her, etc. Are you up to this task, Shine? Or shall I call in a proxy under the circumstances?”

“I am ready, sir. There will be no need for a proxy.”

Abberline placed his hat on his head and nodded. He turned back suddenly, “Shine, erm, before we get on with this business, I wanted to offer my condolences.”

“Thank you, Chief Inspector. You have my deepest gratitude.”

“When my first wife passed,” he continued, “I was younger than you are now.” Abberline's bushy eyebrows knitted together. “I was given the option to take full bereavement leave and allow myself to, erm, grieve. I didn’t. I went straight back to work. I filled my time with fighting murder, thievery, criminality...and the gaps I filled in with drink. I eventually remarried and figured I had successfully beaten the memory down enough to never think of it again. But, you never really beat it down by ignoring it. One day, you pass a corner and smell a certain perfume and realize…”

Abberline stopped suddenly. He swallowed hard.

“You are a critical member of my team, Shine,” he continued. “This quarter requires a man of your mettle to protect it. Take the allotted time, lad. Go somewhere and deal with it in private. Then come back fighting. That’s an order.”

“Yes, Chief Inspector.”

“Right. Now, let’s get on with it, shall we?”


	24. Chapter 24

“Mrs. Hartley. Mrs. Hartley? Open your eyes, please, mam.”

Elena drowsily followed the words to the surface of consciousness.

Her eyes snapped open and sucked in a gasping breath. Her vision refused to focus, no matter how often she squinted.

A queer tightness, not quite painful, stunned her. A cold, feminine hand stopped her own from reaching it.

“Where am I?” Her mouth felt as dry as the desert. Her tongue as thick as a mollusk.

“You are at the St. Bart’s Hospital in Limehouse, Mrs. Hartley. Dr. Patton has treated your cheek wound with a few stitches.” Elena tried to focus on the nurse. “He doesn’t believe the scar will be very visible at all. But it’s important you don’t diddle with it, do you understand?”

Elena nodded.

“Dr. Patton gave you a dose of morphine for the pain and to help you sleep.”

“How long was I sleeping?” Her voice did not sound like her own.

“Approximately four hours.”

_Four hours!_

“You can rest here as long as you need. There’s an inspector here to speak to you when you are ready.”

“Inspector?”

“Yes, mam. To take your statement.”

_Jedediah._

A sharp exhale tore through her chest. “Alright. I will see him now.”

“Are you certain? I can tell him to come back in an hour or so.”

She had been here long enough. “I am fine. Really. Please send him in.” Elena sat up with a grimace. She surveyed her level of decency in the hospital bed. A shawl was wrapped around her shoulders. Her stays were still on but loosened. Otherwise, she was covered by a sterile hospital blanket. Her hand reached up to brush a wayward curl from her forehead. She noticed a long braid that draped over her right shoulder. The nurse must have plaited it for her while she was unconscious. No doubt she looked like an insane woman as she entered the hospital, shaking and bleeding.

Elena looked up to hear an unfamiliar male voice.

“Hello, Mrs. Hartley. I am Detective Inspector Thomas Fenton. If now is a good time, I’d like to take your statement for what happened to you today at the local market.”

Eyebrows knitted. Disappointment must have been obvious.

“Are you alright, mam? Is-is now not a good time?”

She gathered herself. “No-no. I only expected a...a different man.”

“You mean Inspector Shine? I am a temporary replacement while the inspector is on leave. You are familiar with him, then?”

“My...husband was an Inspector. He recently passed away. Inspector Shine is a... family friend.”

“Forgive me, your husband was D.I. Michael Hartley? With S Division?”

“Yes.”

“Blow me over. Small world. Please accept my condolences for the loss of your husband. And for the disappointment in my not being Inspector Shine.”

Elena desperately wished the young inspector would be less effervescent. “No- it is fine. It is only the morphine and the shock of today.”

“Of course.”

He was such an amiable young man, she thought. _He won’t last long in the East End._  “You say Inspector Shine is on leave?”

“I hope you don’t think me overstepping, but the inspector’s wife passed away this day. He’s on leave for a couple of weeks. I imagine he’s in this very hospital signing all the paperwork and taking care of all that unfortunate postmortem business.” He stopped, as if suddenly remembering his manners. “Forgive me- we in the police force, we have a crude way of speaking of such sensitive things.”

“I am well aware and it is no bother.  I am terribly sorry to hear of the passing of Mrs. Shine.” Then a thought occurred to her. “If you see him here, would you tell him where I am and that I would like to speak to him in person? To offer my condolences, of course?”

“Certainly. Certainly! I am a great fan of Inspector Shine, I am. He’s a great fighter.”

Elena felt a sense of pride at the words. “Yes,” she smiled.

“And what he’s done with Limehouse. Ain’t no man like him. He’s old-school, you know?”

“I’m sorry, I do not know what is this “old-school?”

“Beg your pardon, mam. ‘Old-school’ means he’s a bit old fashioned the way he runs things. His style is like the old Bow Street Runners- strike first, ask questions later. He ain’t like some of these newer inspectors- they are all about paperwork. Meantime the crooks run the streets.”

Elena nodded. “Ah, yes, I believe I understand you. Yes, he is a very strong man on the streets.”

The young inspector smiled, a little embarrassed. “Well, let’s get that statement, shall we? Quick as a flash and you’ll be able to rest again in no time. Now, let’s start with your full name?

“Elena Nikolaevna Hartley.”

“Where do you live?

“Albany Street. Regent’s Park."

“How long have you lived there?”

“Over ten years.”

“Good, good. So, where were you when the assault took place?”

“I was in a Limehouse market.” She fought to keep the answers simple, hoping to not inspire a volume of more.

Her hopes dashed as she saw the frown move over his face. “If you don’t mind me asking, what was a lady doing on her own in Limehouse all the way from Regent’s Park?”

_Gospodi! Dumai, Elena, DUMAI! Oh God! Think, Elena. THINK!_

“Well, miss?”

“Hm?”

“What were you doing on your own in a Limehouse market when you live all the way in Regent’s Park?

_Please let his naivete not be limited to his looks._

“Have you heard of borshch, inspector?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“It is Russian stew. Beets, potatoes, beef, and cabbage. I cannot find the freshest beets and potatoes in the markets around my house this time of year. You have the best here in Limehouse. As far as being alone here, I feel safer here than in Whitechapel or Covent Garden. As you say, Inspector Shine has done much to control crime. I feel very safe here. Normally.”

“Did you see the object that struck you, miss?”

“No.”

“Did you see who wielded the object?”

“I am afraid I saw nothing. It all happened so fast.”

“I see. If you are wanting to press charges, miss, I'm afraid I'll need you to identify the assailant. And there seems to be no known assailant.”

“I do not wish to press charges, inspector. It was an unfortunate event. One that was quite painful. But, “she leaned towards him, “I am told I will live to see another day,” she said with a wink.

The young inspector blushed. “Well, then mam. Thank you for your time. I apologize for this awful experience you’ve had here today.”

Elena shrugged. “It could have been worse. It will not stop me from returning to your wonderful market, inspector.”

The young man tipped his hat and bade her have a good day. Before he left he turned back to her, “If I see Inspector Shine, I’ll be sure to send him your way, Miss.”

“Thank you, inspector,” she responded with a nod.

_Please hurry._

*****

“Pardon me, miss?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Can you tell me, is there an Elena Hartley registered to a room here?”

The nurse propped her pince-nez on her nose and began to read the ledger. “Hmmmm…”

“She may be listed under the name Elena Nikolaevna.”

“That’d be one of mine, sir.” Came a voice behind him. “You family?” Shine turned to see the small nurse carrying a tray with toast and marmalade and hot tea.

“A family...friend,” he said hoarsely with a gentleman’s smile. “May I?” He asked, holding his arms out. “I would like to check on her. Her husband was a colleague and a friend.”

The best lies are filled with half-truths.

His eyes entreated the hesitant woman. “I’m sure you’re busy, girl. I can easily carry a tray.”

She stared up into the inspector’s cajoling eyes and reluctantly gave it over.

“Grateful, my dear," he said. "Grateful. Now, kindly point me in the direction of Ms. Elena’s room.”

*****

Elena hated morphine. She had had it once before after her abortion. The surgery had been painful. The recovery had been excruciating. Even now, certain movements she made reminded her of what she had done years ago.

A reminder of the affront she committed against God years ago.

She didn’t want to be a mother. She knew this. A fact never spoken.

She didn’t want her husband to watch gleefully as her ever-growing belly grew with the seed he had planted within her.

She didn’t want her identity stripped away to nothing but wife and mother.

But this was not a sentiment a truly good Christian woman admitted.

Would it have been a far worse sin to allow the child to grow up with Michael Hartley as its father? With a distant and cold woman as his mother?

She had kept telling herself that she did it because one day she would flee London. If she had a baby, it would have made the trek nearly impossible.

But she never fled.

She did not want to return to Russia. She had more freedom in London, away from her controlling parents. Over-protective brothers.

The curtains whispered against the breeze into her room. She stared out into the milky sunlight. Ten years of her life.

Laura Shine lost 5 years of her life in that place. 

More than that. 

The emptiness in the woman’s eyes, the Abyss itself. Darkness, fear, an identity stripped down and abused. Anger, resentment. The extreme experience of every woman in this day and age.

A true Christian woman would feel  guilt over the role she played. 

Perhaps one day she would become a true Christian woman. 

Elena shuddered. She drew the shawl tighter around her shoulders.

The morphine caused the tears to fall now. She was sure it was that.

She felt weak. Vulnerable. A dangling mess over the same Abyss.

But she did not feel guilt.

She was tired.

She wondered how far down her thoughts would take her.

An unbidden thought. A blessing. A gift.

The memory of the cane. His voice. The passion. The power. The abandon. The liberation.

Her heart quickened.

A knock on the door. Or was it her heart beating fiercely against her chest?

Another knock.

“Come in,” she called out meekly.

Grey eyes met green.

_Jedediah._

He stood at the threshold of the room, under the door frame, a slightly trembling tray of tea and toast in his hands. His eyes glistened. They shimmered with a sadness she had seen once before.

“May I come in?” His voice was hoarse, determined, wracked with guilt and doubt.

For a moment Elena stared at him impassively. But when she saw the sadness grow deeper with each passing second, she couldn't wait any longer. They pleaded with her. _My Elena My Lena My Lenka My Lenochka_ they seemed to cry. All the names she had been called by loved ones and friends in her homeland. She heard them all in her mind as he stood and waited for her to speak.

The Abyss faded away into the dark recesses of her mind. The sunlight slashed across her face as a tear fell and a smile blossomed.


	25. Chapter 25

The close of the door was a clicking closure.

But only inside the hospital room. Not inside his mind.

Elena sat with the sun on her face, looking up at him enigmatically with her ice blue eyes. She looked so small to him. Shawl wrapped around slender, shapely shoulders. Hair down. She looked so young. So vulnerable.

But knowing.

Knowing what he had done. Knowledge that he had acted without hesitation to end the life of another. The wife who had fucked another man in their wedding bed. The wife whose lover he had burned alive and forced her to see. The wife he had committed to an asylum because she would not be quiet. And because he could. The laws of England were on his side.

They usually were.

Jedediah placed the tray down on a small table in the room and carefully brought it over to her bedside.

He straightened. Turned. Roughly, he gripped the top of the ladder-back Shaker chair in the corner of the room and swung it round as though it were made of papier-mache. Its overused frame creaking desperately as he sat down with a heavy sigh.

Elena instinctively picked up the metal teakettle and poured the steaming liquid into the solitary cup.

“You take yours black, if I remember correctly,” she said coyly. The line of his mouth twisted. He desperately wanted to touch her, but equally wanted to maintain control.

Of the situation. Of his reason.

“There’s only one cup," he only said.

“Then we shall share it,” she answered without hesitation as she placed the kettle back down on the tray. _As we have shared so much_ she did not have to say.

He crossed a leg as his lashes fluttered down. His side whiskers in tact, but his stubble thick. He needed to shave. His face full of shadow.

Her stomach growled in protest as she inhaled the aroma of food.

“Eat something,” he said, voice expressionless.

She plucked a slice of toast from the rack and began to scrape butter on it. Her hands trembled slightly. He was assessing her. Like when she first visited him in his office, she could feel his eyes on her as though he used his hands.

Jedediah had no inclination how Elena would handle the information of what he did. Had she fulfilled her promise to lie to the hospital staff? Or, in her medicinal haze did she admit to being present in his home when his wife’s light was swiftly extinguished by his own hand?

Elena dipped the knife into the small cup of jam.

In his mind, he saw a lifeless face, olike one of those monstrous wax figures in a curiosities museum, staring up at him after he had crushed her skull against the stone hearth.

A soft slash of jam on buttered toast.

Somewhere, deep in his consciousness, he automatically considered the prospect of Elena’s venality. What would he have to offer her in exchange for her silence? What would she try and demand? Would he have to put her on an Eastbound train back to Russia?

The thought unsettled him. He would never see her again. Never feel her again. Never hear his name as a cry of passion against his cheek.

Slowly, his lashes lifted.

His scrutinous eyes, the eyes of an investigator, shot to her lips as she brought the slice up to her mouth. Pink lips parted. A corner of the toast entered her mouth.

A memory of Elena's wet, hungry flesh gripping his cock rocked him.

She would return to her past life with her family to protect her. Far away from him. Far away from what he would never be able to give her: all of him. Her loving words to him came easy when they lay in bed together. Her resentment would come years later as she sat alone at supper while he tended his ventures.

A delicate hand came up to her mouth to wipe away a couple of crumbs that had separated from the scorched bread.  She winced from the pain the cut on her cheek brought her as she chewed. Her face blushed a deep crimson.

He would go on with his life.

Alone.

_“Because you are no longer a man of warm flesh and blood. Your visage is scarred like a fight dog, your temper a hurricane.”_

Mentally he slugged the memory of his dead wife with all his might. 

Jedediah brought the hot tea to his lips and slurped. Setting the cup down roughly he said finally, “I don’t think it will scar.”

Elena said nothing. She watched his right hand toy with the teaspoon nervously.

He watched her neck as she swallowed the bread.

The neck he had caressed, licked, nuzzled in drowsy satiation.

Elena believed the cut on her cheek would heal. Perhaps she would have a small silver line reminding her for the rest of her life what this week had wrought her. The anger she probably ought to feel was not there. 

No pleasure without pain.

She steeled herself against the unexpected distance she felt from him in that moment.

She reached for the teacup and took a sip. The hot liquid scorched the back of her throat delightfully. “What do we do now,” she asked quietly.

Jedediah’s mouth opened- there was something on the tip of his tongue.

A faint murmur on the other side of the door was followed by a distinctly masculine knock. Jedediah knew it was not a nurse.

“Come in,” Jedediah ordered.

In the doorway, his temporary replacement. “Inspector Shine, sir,” the man said humbly. His gaze shot from Shine to Elena and back again. “I’m terribly sorry to disturb you both.”

Jedediah’s silence spoke volumes to the young man.

“Inspector Thomas Fenton, sir.” Jedediah perfunctorily shook the man’s outstretched hand, but did not stand up. A tacit statement on superiority. “The Yard has asked that I be your temporary replacement while you take your leave. It is my honor.”

“Inspector.” Jedediah nodded to the compliment.

“Apologies, sir. Mrs. Hartley had asked me to look for you to let you know she was here. And to offer her condolences.”

Jedediah blinked. “Condolences,” he repeated out loud. Had Elena said she knew of Laura’s death...

“I hope I had not overstepped, sir, but I informed her of your presence here because of the sudden passing of your wife, sir. She had expected you, sir, to take her statement of the market accident she had. That is, since you were a colleague of her late husband’s and was familiar with your post here as head of K Division.”

Jedediah’s body relaxed. Relief overwhelmed him. Green eyes turned to meet ice grey eyes.

“Well, as you can see, I found her first,” his eyes cajoled. “But since you’re here, and as I have only just sat down, why don’t you tell me what happened in the market?”

Elena was cognizant of Jedediah’s command that the investigator tell him, and not her. This was a test.

Her heart slammed against her chest. She knew she had followed his direction, yet still her veins were full of ice.

A dull pain around Jedediah’s throat traveled down his chest.

The young investigator grabbed his notebook and began to read, apologizing that he had not had a chance to write up an official report as of yet.

Jedediah looked at the man and wondered if he had ever looked that young.

“Mrs. Hartley stated to me her full name," Fenton began, "her current residential address. She stated that she had been to market to gather vegetables to make a soup, erm...apologies, I have here it is called bor-”

“Borscht,” Elena interjected. “It is Russian soup made with beets and cabbage,” she directed at Jedediah. “Very healthy.”

“Thank you, mam,” he said to Elena, then recapturing his policing tone, “I inquired as to why she had come to a Limehouse market and not one closer to her residence by Regent’s Park, perhaps even Covent Garden. She stated that the Limehouse markets had the best and freshest vegetables this time of year--”

“Indeed, they do,” Jedediah proudly agreed.

“--and because she knew this market to be quite safe thanks to the police presence, she came alone as she had done countless times in the past.”

Elena munched on more toast. Jedediah silently appraised her demeanor. She was quite satisfied with herself.

He had clearly underestimated her.

“I then inquired if she saw the attacker. To this she stated that she did not and therefore did not wish to press any charges.”

Jedediah inhaled and exhaled sharply.

"That is all, sir." Fenton closed the notebook and stood awkwardly and silently. Eager to impress the man.

“Good work, son. Good work. Be sure to keep coppers on the beat, however. Isolated it may seem to be now, but if this assailant strikes again, we must be ready to act," punctuating the last word with a thump of his index finger on the table.

“Yes, sir.”

Jedediah looked towards Elena. "Mrs. Hartley," not using her first name with Fenton in their presence, "please accept my apologies.”

Elena shook her head. “No. No. Please do not apologize.”

“Oh, but I must insist. This happened in my jurisdiction. Trust that I will do all I can to ensure it never happens again.”

After a moment, Elena responded simply, “this I know.”

The young investigator stared at the couple, who for a moment seemed to forget he was there until he cleared his throat. 

"Is there more you need from Mrs. Hartley or myself, Fenton?" The irritation in Jedediah's voice barely disguised. 

"No, sir."

"Then, by all means, don't let me keep you from writing up your report." Jedediah's voice was harsh.

"Of course," Fenton blushed. "Good day to you, mam. Inspector."

"Good day, Inspector," Elena said sweetly. 

"We cannot speak plainly here," Jedediah said after two nurses came in and left following Fenton’s exit.

"Then take me somewhere we can."


	26. Chapter 26

“Well, we’ve had an eventful day.” Sergeant Bennet Drake of H Division blew into Inspector Edmund Reid’s office and announced his presence.

“Did you now?”

Drake ignored the American accent in his left ear and steadied his eye on his superior. “Found the Russian counterfeiters, sir. That is to say, their workshop. Abandoned warehouse off Jamaica Street.”

Reid shook his head. “Hiding in plain sight.”

“Indeed. The Russians managed to escape and took all the money with them, but they did leave behind a stash of stolen jewels.”

“Jewels, Drake?”

“Yes, a trunk full of golden rings and diamond brooches and such.”

“A veritable treasure trove,” Captain Jackson mused to anyone who would listen.

The East London man was undeterred once again and cleared his throat. “Hobbs is collatin’ all the reports we’ve received of jewels stolen in the Metro area in the hopes that we might return the jewels to their rightful owners.”

“And perhaps a reward in the form of donations and public support from the most affluential,” Reid surmised.

“Exactly.”

“Good work, Drake.”

“Speakin’ o’ Russians…” came the American accent yet again. Finally, Drake bit. “What are you on about?” Drake exhaled and pivoted, looking at the seated American doctor suspiciously.

Jackson shifted in the shaker chair, the wooden contraption creaking in protest.

Reid leaned back and interlocked his fingers. “Jackson seems to believe he witnessed the Russian widow of Inspector Mick Hartley and one of our own in conversation before the hospital in Limehouse.”

Drake failed to see the significance of this fact. He crossed his arms and shifted from one leg to the other. “It ain’t a crime for a woman to engage in conversation.”

Reid agreed, but added, “It’s not the fact that she was conversing, but with whom.”

“One of your favorite people, Drake," Jackson added.

The weathered Sergeant dragged his hand down his face and scoffed. All the work he had just completed and Jackson only cares about his point. As bloody usual. “And who might that be?” 

“Inspector. Jedediah. Shine.” Jackson emphasized each word and waited for the weight of this name to take effect on Drake’s expression, but sat back as the man’s face betrayed nothing.

Reid cleared his throat and glanced down. He, unlike Jackson, did not take joy in reminding the good sergeant of the one fight he ever lost.

Reid saw Drake’s jaw clench.

Jackson was a bastard. Shine and Drake could be as well, but they were a different breed.

Jedediah Shine had spent ten years as a policeman in Hong Kong. He was not a veteran or war, but he might as well have been. He had returned to London with the same affliction that plagued Drake and hundreds of others who had represented the Crown in her colonies. Once they returned home, they were found to be different, strange, haunted with a cynicism and often a lost limb. Drake was lucky. Shine was lucky. But they were alone.  
Reid thought of a book that he had once read by the great American author Nathaniel Hawthorne. Young Goodman Brown, it was. A man who spent the evening in the forest, away from his family and village, and returned having lost faith in his society. Embittered, suspicious, cynical.

And in Drake’s case violent. Shine likewise.

They were so similar, yet still so different. Reid hated to couple them, frankly.

And that night, at the Divisional competition, in front of dozens of blood-hungry, baying policemen, they had fought each other. Fate had coupled them.

It had been a Greco-Roman dance of symmetry. Equal strength. Similar heights. Paralleled survival instincts.  
Reid remembered the metallic smell of blood, the rancid acidity of vomit, the stench of unwashed bodies and sweat. The jaundiced hue of the gaslight above the fighters made more sickly by the hovering tobacco smoke.

The sounds of male bellows and shouts, the clapping of hands, the stomping of boots. Glass bottles clinking. The sickening crush of cartilage under the fighters’ gloves.

The venue was many things, certainly, but it was most definitely no place for a lady. His Emily would not have been caught dead in such a place. And anyway Reid would have forbid it.  
But there was something different about that night, apparently. And for some reason, Reid remembered it for something else. A woman.

The gaslight illuminated her face and her hat, upon which sat an attractive pile of periwinkle and heliotrope flowers and ostrich feathers. Her stoic face, appraising the fighters, was seemingly unaffected by the smells and sounds in the place. It was betrayed only by the blurring motion of her beaded fan, which moved back and forth relentlessly to circulate the air around her, causing the feathers atop her head to bounce rhythmically.  
Her attention was consumed by something; rather someone entirely.  
In the final round, Shine went down and Drake had let down his guard. The crowd roared its disapproval and shock. Creepily, the sheer volume seemed to pull Shine up like some sort of demonic marionette. He could not be ended. There was no stopping this man.

Only the woman's fan. Then came a shadow of a feminine smirk. Approval. Satisfaction. Her ample chest heaved to match the crowd’s excitement. Shine had one final hook in the last round which sent Drake to the bloodied canvas. Blood sprayed into the crowd. Onto the woman. Inspector Mick Hartley's wife, Elena. Russian. She noted the blood but was not at all moved by the horrific display. This human display of violence and entertainment was not new to her, it seemed.

Trembling, the gasping victor stumbled to his corner and collapsed onto his stool. Both men had to be carried to the locker room. Both men were in hospital within the hour.  
Funny, Reid thought to himself, how Shine loved to taunt Drake at how easy it was to take down a man from H Division. In truth, both men took 9 full rounds to nearly kill each other. He felt certain that if they were to meet in the ring again, though Drake had since given up the fight, that death would follow- one, the other, or both.

And Mrs. Michael Hartley would be there willing Shine to victory, like some sort of Baltic forest witch...

“Reid!” Jackson’s voice shook him from his reverie. “Hell, he ain’t even listenin’. Look, I just think it’s curious that the bed ain’t yet cold and-”

“Perhaps, Captain," Reid suggested, "that bed has been cold for the last decade. We may not know what went on, or didn’t go on between man and wife.”

“You don’t think Mick was achin’ to hit that? A fox like that?”

“I think we don’t always know what goes on behind closed doors,” Drake admonished the doctor, who merely answered with a sideways glance.

“Bullshit.” Jackson leaned forward and got quiet. “Here's my thought - It wouldn’t surprise me at all if Shine didn’t have something to do with Mick’s sudden demise.”

“Oi!” Drake cried out.

“Jackson, don’t be ridiculous,” Reid dismissed him.

“What are you defending that ass hole for, Drake? How often does he remind you of the fight you lost, eh? Don’t tell me you hold some soldierly respect--”  
“You wouldn’t know nothin' about it, so shut your face. Or I shall shut it for ya.”

“I’d like to see you try, Drake. Maybe use some of that same skill you had that night--”

“Drake. Jackson. This ends now.” Reid stared at both men as though admonishing two children. “Look,” he sighed, not believing what he was about to say, “Shine taunts Drake because he won and he’s a bloody braggart, but the truth is, they both fought with equal strength that night. I believe that fighters who are well matched tend to have a kind of respect for one another, despite the harsh words used. Am I not correct, Drake?”

“With all due respect, sir, unless you’re a fighter, you cannot fully speak to the fighter’s mind.” 

Just like Reid will never understand the experience of fighting in Crimea or policing a hostile Asian environment for ten years with little or no recognition, he need not say.

“I get it,” Jackson said, “it’s the open secret that because he’s an Inspector no one’s allowed to question his activities over in K.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Jackson.” Reid said definitively. “There are plenty who question him. Plenty who are in the higher ranks, mind you, who watch his activities with a careful eye. As they do mine. As they did Mick Hartley's. Not one of us is immune to justice.”

“That’s hilarious,” Jackson said under his breath. “I didn’t perform the postmortem, but if I had, I would have looked for suspicious chemicals or residue on his person.”

“Yes, well, you didn’t, and the postmortem that was performed found nothing but a liver that failed after years of heavy drinking. Mick was known for that lifestyle. He was also in heavy debt when he passed- he was a terrible gambler.”

“You see what I mean?" Jackson pressed. "I can see it in your eyes, Reid. You’re starting to see a strange puzzle being pieced together. Husband passes, leaves the widow in heavy debts. And suddenly she and no other than Jedediah Shine are seen in public, chatting- mind you, she weren’t in no widow’s weeds neither…”

“Jackson,” Drake interrupted, “I think you’re hanging around the whorehouse a bit too long. You’re starting to gossip like one.”

“I do recall her being at the fight," Reid added.

“Ha!” Jackson threw his head back victoriously. “I knew it!”

“Oh, Christ on a cross,” Drake muttered.

“I knew where there’s smoke there’s fire!”

“Don’t you have some corpse to cut up?” Drake asked.

“Don’t you have some face to smash?” Jackson taunted.

“Don’t you both have it in you to give me some peace? Get out, both of you. Drake, do let me know what you find out about those stolen jewels. Jackson, go...put that great medical mind of yours to work on more... work and less gossip.”

“Will do, sir.”

“Sure thing."

Reid watched from his desk as the backs of the two men were replaced with the vision of the tall, older Chief Inspector Abberline.

“Good afternoon, Inspector.”

“Chief Inspector,” Reid greeted his superior as he stood up from his chair. “Do come in.”

“Thank you. Thank you.” The older man with the furry side whiskers removed his hat and entered the small office.

“To what do I owe this visit. Sir? Is it work that brings you by Leman Street?”

“Well,” the older man shifted in the chair. “I believe this day I wish to talk to you as a friend and not as your superior.”

Reid circled his desk and shut the door to his office with a click. “What is it, Fred? Are you well?”

“Oh, I’m fine. I’m fine. I’ve had quite a morning and needed to hear your thoughts on some things.”

“Of course. You know you may speak freely.”

Abberline exhaled a gruff breath. “I’ve just come from Limehouse and, well, my mind just can’t piece together a puzzle involving your colleague from K. Have you any of that American's imported whiskey in that desk of yours? It might make me feel like less of a gossip in a whorehouse.”


	27. Chapter 27

"But why? Why hide the fact that your wife is alive and committed to a lunatic asylum?"

"Consider it, Edmund. What is the one thing Jedediah is concerned with maintaining? The thing most precious to him?"

  _Not the peace. Perhaps money. But no, something else._ "His reputation."

"Precisely."

"But it is not illegal for a man to commit his wife if he has sound reason."

"Oh Ed. You know damn well that men in this country have the power to commit their wives and children for any reason. A daughter who can't piss in a pot without making a mess. An emotional wife who fears for her child's safety. If a man feels the need to get rid of someone he's related to, the law is on his side for him to do so without question."

"So then why the widower guise?"

Abberline considered for a moment. "Death is final. Death is the full stop to a statement. Death means that particular conversation is over."

"Whereas a wife hidden away may still talk. People may inquire as to her health. Questions he would not want being asked of his private life. Perhaps questions he doesn't want to have to lie about."

"Don't misunderstand me. There ain't a man alive I wouldn't rather have out there in that sink controlling crime. But were I, say, to start digging..."

"You're worried you'd find dirt."

"Perhaps he's worried I'd find dirt."

"All of us have at one point or another pushed the limits on what we _can_ and _should_ do as lawmen, Fred, have we not?"

"No question, Ed. But there's _pushing_ the limit and there's _blasting_ through it like a gas explosion and then making up your own limits. Anyway, his alibi is sound. She shows up to his house after having broken out of the hospital, which the staff corroborates, an argument ensues between them. She falls backward over an ottoman and hits her head on the hearth."

"Was anyone else in the house?"

"He says no."

"No witnesses of her death, other than the husband."

Abberline nodded and took another sip. "The house was clean other than the bloodied hearth."

"What does the coroner say?"

"Death by blunt force trauma to the head."

Reid's brows pinched together, thinking. "What makes us prejudge the man, do you think? His talent for violence?"

"My wife would say I have the same talent. Do I invite the same prejudice from others?"

"I think many policemen do in this city, Fred."

Both men became silent in agreement.

"How was he when you first arrived?" Reid asked, changing the topic.

"He did not say much. He was...a husband in shock, in mourning, in despair."

"But we know he has a talent for theatrics."

"He certainly knows how to control his own narrative."

"By drowning out other voices with his own."

"Or attacking them."

"What is the old saying? 'the guilty dog barks the loudest.'"

A great hearty laugh rocked out of the older man, which caused Reid to follow. An inside joke between the two. They had referred to Jedediah as an attack dog once. The moment fleeting. Reid became again serious.

"What will you do?"

"I have no concrete proof of anything- no real reason to doubt the man."

"That is to say, nothing you can put your finger on," Reid interpreted.

"Speaking of, give us another finger of that stuff. What is that "Kentucky Bourbon?" Not bad. Not bad."

Reid unscrewed the bottle and poured the amber liquid into the man's glass. He chuckled.

"Spit it out, Reid."

"Is there anything Jedediah Shine does that is not of tabloid interest these days?"

"What do you mean?"

"Just before you came, I had to listen to Captain Jackson theorize on the whys and wherefores explaining the fact that Mick Hartley's widow and Shine were seen conversing afore St. Bart's today. He has it in his head that something untoward is going on between the two, suggesting even that Shine may have had a hand at Mick's demise."

"Jedediah Shine has always made good copy. And he is capable of many things, but why would he have involvement in the death of a fellow policeman?"

"Indeed. Do you know if there was ever any rumor at the yard regarding Shine and the Widow Hartley?"

"The Russian girl? No, I haven't heard anything. But she's just his type, ain't she? Built to stand out in a crowd, aloof, and mute."

"She's too beautiful. He couldn't stand for people's eyes to be on her and not him."

"Ha!" Abberline slapped his thigh. 

"I don't think she's mute, is she?" Reid was genuinely curious.

"I have _never_ heard her utter one word."

"Perhaps she doesn't speak English."

"Neither does Shine," Abberline said into his glass.

"Please, you and he have the same tongue," he chided. "You both come from Bethnal Green, after all."

Abberline pointed a finger at Reid. "Oi, watch it, you. I shall have to write you up for slanderous insubordination."

"Understood," Reid said evenly. "Need be, my man Hobbs can proofread for any spelling and grammatical errors. He'll be sure to help you find those elusive 'h's the people of your borough seem to have a habit of misplacing."

 


	28. Chapter 28

A horse waited at the curb before the hospital. It was as black as the cab it pulled.

Jedediah looked over his shoulder. Left. Right. Left again.

Elena gathered her skirts and stepped up onto the platform of the cab. She sat down on cracked leather. The cab tilted from Jedediah's weight and brisk determination. He sat next to her. He slammed the door shut with an exhale and leaned back, shifting to seek some comfort but found none.

Elena's throat tightened. She inhaled, seeking oxygen but similarly found none. A miasma surrounded both of them like a poisonous marsh gas.

The oppressive air had crawled into her mouth, down her throat, into her lungs. It colored every breath, every swallow.

It was a contagion that threatened to infect them both.

The cab rocked back and then forward as it moved into traffic. But the power the stench held remained.

It was not from their unwashed, sweaty bodies. And it was not from the filthy cracked leather. Not a whore's perfume. Not the horse. Not London.

It was the reek of filth and death that had aerated from every pore on Laura's body. It had formed its own humanoid shape and now it sat across from them.

Elena shut the image out of her mind and gazed into the afternoon sky.

Jedediah looked down to his left at the woman beside him. She was as stoic as a statue. He followed her gaze out of the grimy window and out into the approaching dusk of the city.

She looked like she was made out of glass. Should the cab dip down into a pothole she would surely shatter.

Her gaze dreamily followed the sensation of her hand being encased by his larger, warmer hand.

Her thin hand was icy. Trembling. Where he found this protective instinct he didn't know, but his automatic response was to grip it harder, as if to press strength from his flesh into hers. Whatever dominated her reverie, he would smite it out and replace it with something else.

Elena jerked back to reality by his vice-like grip.

An unbidden thought crept into his mind: was it monstrous to feel that the thought of himself was any better than what was already there in her consciousness?

It was a question he found curious. Why would he question what was best for this woman? For any woman? He was Jedediah Shine, so the question he knew to be utterly ludicrous. It was a trick of the exhausted mind. Thus, he immediately set it ablaze.

She looked up at his stubbled cheek. His profile, half illuminated by the pink glow of the retiring sun, was noble and strong. His eyes were half covered by tired eyelids and long lashes. She studied the wiry whiskers. His pink bottom lip.

Green eyes met grey. There was a devilish glint in them. A snide grin curled up the left side of his mouth. He leaned down and nudged her playfully with his shoulder, but said absolutely nothing.

She did not react.

The fraction of playfulness in his eye disappeared. She was a stubborn woman. She had been a stubborn girl. Stubborn wife. And rarely satisfied.

But this man had found ways. There was something wrong with him. She was sure of it. Something monstrous. He had murdered her. His Laura. Yet here they were. Together. He playfully leaning into her as though they were lifelong mates. And she, Elena Nikolaevna Hartley, had lied to law enforcement, willfully, happily, enthusiastically, in order to protect him.

"Where do we go?" she asked. But she knew. They had turned in the direction of her home.

He cocked an eyebrow and leaned towards her, but did not look at her. "A place where I will be confident that you will feel confident that you can speak to whatever it is going on in that head of yours."

"I say what I feel wherever I am. We do not need to go to my home for me to say what I am thinking."

Jedediah pressed his lips together, wiped a smudge from his pantleg and sighed. "Nevertheless."

"And you know what I am thinking."

Jedediah sat still.

"Don't you," she pressed. "I have made myself part of your crime. I have lied for you--"

"Keep your voice down," he scolded her calmly but full of promise.

"-and protected you," she continued, ignoring him. "I want you to tell me the truth."

"About?"

"About...her."

"She was my wife. And now she is not. There is naught more for me to say."

"Was what she said true?"

The cab came to a jerky stop. She could hear his breathing becoming stronger. His face reddened. He kicked open the door and hopped down, tossing a florin up into the hand of the cabbie. Perfunctorily, he gripped her elbow to guide her down the steps.

She glanced up to see Sgt. Barton standing like a sentinel next to one of Jedediah's own carriages. Why was he here?

He lead the way up her sidewalk and pushed open the door. Absently she wondered why the door was open.

She did not have to wonder long.

Elena crossed the threshold to her townhouse as she had thousands of times only to find herself feeling as though she had just floated into a stranger's home.

She heard the familiar sound of the front door clicking into place. Jedediah leaned against the door with his hand on the doorknob. He watched the back of her silhouette as she processed what was happening.

Elena had wondered why Barton was parked in front of her house. He had delivered her trunk, which now sat in front of her at the bottom of the stairs. And then he would take Jedediah home.

"Everything she said about me was true, Elena."

 

 

 

 

 


	29. Chapter 29

"Everything," he repeated.

Jedediah watched the back of Elena's silhouette remain unmoving. Elena's eyes were fixed somewhere beyond her. Her eyelids involuntarily fluttered.

At the sound of her name her head jerked to the side. "Shall I light the fire?" He asked. It was not cold, but besides putting the kettle on, he could think of nothing else to offer her some familiarity.

"No," she said clearly. Decisively. She was not in the mood to be hospitable.

"You wish for us to simply stand here. In the foyer."

"Yes," she said quickly.

Jedediah leaned against her door, contrapposto. One hand gripped the door handle, the other hitched up against his hip.

He looked both cool and ready to flee.

Somewhere outside, Barton's voice was muffled as he shouted at a passing cab, _Go 'round, sir. Thank you._

"Why are my things here." She was not asking a question.

"I thought it best."

She squared her shoulders. "Best? For who? Me?" She turned on her heel. "Or _you_?"

Jedediah licked his lips.

"You said a week," she said abruptly. "Seven days where you own me body and soul. And then my husband's debts would be paid. This was the agreement."

"And now I am adjusting that agreement."

You owe me three more nights."

"I owe you?" He hissed.

"Yes, you owe me!"

"You owed me, as I remember-"

" _I_ gave myself to you. _I_ did what you said! _I_ lied for you!"

Jedediah approached her suddenly so she had to look up at him. "I told you once, woman, keep your bloody voice down."

Elena continued with a calmness she was no where near feeling.  "Or what, will you do if I do not? Will you, lock me in an asylum?"

Jedediah smoothed his mustache down and rubbed his chin. He did not expect her to understand. "She betrayed me. Deceived me. Over and over. She did not deserve peace. I will not apologize for the choices she made to lead her to where she is now - lying on a coroner's cold slab. Split open for any man to touch and see her. Just as she was in life."

She reached down and grabbed his hand, placing it on her throat. He felt hers, tiny and cold, trembling as she held it in place. "And should I betray you, will you bash my head against the wall? Hm? Nyet," she chuckled like a madwoman. "You should hang me upstairs. No one will question you then. I will just be a grieving woman mourning the loss of her _beloved_." At the last word her voice hitched.

The silence hung between them. His brows knitted together in confusion. "I will not hurt you, girl."

Her bottom lip trembled. She stared wide-eyed at him as a solitary tear descended down her cheek, onto his hand. Onto hers. _You already have._

His grip tightened a fraction around her throat as he felt his chest tighten. He wanted her to hate him. He wanted her to love him. He needed to make her believe this was right. His face sobered. "You think me a monster, eh?"

His hand crept up the side of her chin, her cheek, cupping her ear. Hers travelled with it as she turned her face into his palm and kissed it. His stomach turned at the tactile connection. He wanted her now. His heart ached at the site of more tears falling. At her silence. He knew her answer.

"Did I displease you?" The childlike pleading squeezed his chest.

"Of course not."

"Then _why?_ Why do you send me away from you?"

Jedediah could not answer.

"You said to me you were mine. I said I was yours. You did not have to do say it, but you did." His eyes shielded themselves from her scrutinous gaze.

Jedediah's stomach clenched with what he was about to say.

"It was...the heat of passion, Elena. It meant... nothing."

"No," she whispered. She could not believe what he was saying.

He was so close she could feel his breath on her cheek. "Elena," he whispered, "listen to me. Your husband's solicitor- Trent - works for me." Elena's body froze. "There were no debts to be paid."

Elena's eyes shot to his. "Let go of me!" Suddenly, she needed to put space between them both, but his grip became vice-like. He would be heard, even if it sliced through her like a knife. And once again, she would be helpless in his grasp.

"I wanted you," he whispered in her ear. "So I took you. It was as simple as that."

She clawed at his grasp as she gasped and pleaded, "pochemu? Pochemu? Pochemu?" _Why Why Why_

"You think me a monster," he said as he jerked her closer. Her heart slammed against her chest as the final words fell upon her. "Because I am."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
